


Dragon in the Storm

by Nehasy



Series: Dragon in the Ashes [3]
Category: Tenkuu no Escaflowne | The Vision of Escaflowne
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Language, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Wartime Violence, reference to dub-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2019-10-31 07:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 117,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17845148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehasy/pseuds/Nehasy
Summary: Astoria lies in ruins, the war has begun, but strange forces are on the move.  As the darkness of war covers the land, the price for victory grows higher with every passing day for the prize isn't the world of Gaea, but Destiny itself.





	1. Dawn of a New Age

**Author's Note:**

> YAY Book three!!! I can't believe I've made it this far and I'm so happy that people are still following it. Thank you all for sticking with me and the happy adventures of our unlikely duo. As always, please feel free to toss me ideas, thoughts, critiques or anything that crosses your minds. I love hearing for you and always try to reply to posts. My plan is to get a bunch of the side characters a lot more active, such as Merle (who has seriously grown on me over the course of the story) as well as Dryden and Millerna. I think they'll make a rather interesting royal couple. Then, there's always Gaddes, who has put his foot so far into his mouth that he's acquired a new third leg... how will things turn out for him? And what the hell is the Crusade Crew up to? MUAHAHAAH. Prepare for lots of battle, some intrigue, insanity and yeah... sex.

King Grava Aston, first of his name and once undisputed ruler of the vast merchant kingdom of Astoria was having a truly terrible day.  It had begun with his death and gone rather rapidly downhill since then.

               He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up in this state, wandering listlessly along the paths of the dead, flanked by so many other bodies walking alongside him.  None of them paid the monarch any attention, and he hadn’t demanded any.  Nothing mattered here, and titles were the empty accoutrements of the living.  The trials, tribulations and endless complications of life had left him behind, moved beyond his reach and his understanding, leaving behind nothing but the emptiness within.

               That’s how it had begun.  Time had no meaning here, so he had no idea how long he’d been walking amongst the masses of other shades, but he had a feeling that it hadn’t been for long at all.  Just long enough to know that the soft whispers he was hearing drawing closer weren’t normal.  Long enough to feel the menace radiating from them and experience the previously unexperienced sensation of being prey. 

Something was closing in from all sides, an icy cold malevolence that drew closer with every step he took.  It forced him out of the empty lassitude of this endless and mindless walk, reminding him that this wasn’t right, that he’d had a name, an identity… a life.  Something beyond this.

The awareness never lasted long.  Brief flashes of a shining palace, sunlight glinting off water like diamonds, a room of gold filled with proud men kneeling and bright blue eyes filled with love as they stared into his.  They all dissolved like morning mist before he could follow where they led, leaving him back in this eternal grey and washed out road, shambling forward with other grey and washed out beings.

Whispers…. Close and filled with menace.  He couldn’t make out the words but knew that he had to get away from them.  Nothing mattered beyond that.

Picking up speed, he did his best to slip past the other walkers without drawing attention to himself, a skill he’d clearly never possessed in life.  Though he jostled many of them, none of the other shades took note of his rough shoving.  They never blinked and never even looked up.  He might as well have not existed as far as they were concerned, yet still the whispers drew closer.

They could see him, sense him, hear him and he could feel their growing anticipation as they closed in. 

Some distant part of his mind warned him to match the pace of those around him, to try to fade into the crowd and let them slip by.  Move with the herd, that’s how it was done… but logic and emotion rarely worked well together, and Grava was well out of his element.  There was no logic here, at least none that he recognized.  There was only the fading flashes of memory and the whispers, growing ever closer.   

               He found himself running before he’d even made the conscious choice to do so.  His body no longer wasting the time attempting to slip around those walking upon this dull road with him.  Instead, he pushed them out of his way, shoving his way forward with no regard for others.  The ever-shifting horde was endless and for all that they didn’t react to his abuse, they didn’t move out of his way either, slowing him down even as his pursuers closed in.    

               He had no idea who his tormentors were.  Did he know them?  Were they enemies from before the road?  It was so hard to remember the life before the walking.  Flashes of a line of youthful bodies clad in black leather uniforms adorned with deep blue armour.  They stood too still for boys their age, staring forward, not even daring to blink as a pale demon stalked past them.  A flash of crimson eyes, fire trapped in living flesh.  A calm almost soothing voice explaining about soldiers for a new age. 

The memories lasted as long as a spark from a flint, flaring brilliantly for only the briefest of moments before fading back into darkness.  All that remained was the knowledge that they were dangerous, and he had to run. 

Run he did.  Panic consumed him, driving away thought, memory and strategy.  The whispers closed in, unhindered by the surrounding bodies and promising something so much worse than the limbo he was trapped in. 

               They were driving him somewhere, keeping him moving ever forward, edging him off to the side where the horde was thinnest.  That much he understood, though the destination and reason why still eluded him.  As far as he was concerned, they were legion.  Their numbers seemed to be endless as they harried him, always just out of sight, never allowing him a moment’s rest and cruelly denying him the blissful apathy which had consumed those around him.

               Though he’d been running for ages, his body didn’t tire, and his legs didn’t ache even though he knew deep down that physical exertion had never been an indulgence of his.  He should have been short of breath, should have been dizzy with fatigue, but all he felt was terror and his own impending doom closing in around him. 

               Desperate now, he’d called out to them, begging for mercy, trying to bargain for a reprieve, offering them riches, power, even the lives of those around him. He’d tried threatening those who stalked him but was greeted only by mocking laughter.  There would be no mercy here and he dreaded to learn what sort of fate was even worse than this endless road. 

               A huge gate loomed ahead, made from heavy iron and steel and bound with wire between the bars, causing it to look like the resulting work of a maddened spider.   Woven into the wire were bones and feathers, creating a strange dichotomy between the industrial and primitive but leaving an air of heavy menace about it. 

The endless masses continued to walk, the strange gate remaining unremarked in their minds.  None of them even so much as grasped that this might be a way out, an end to their eternal march.  Well… all but one.

Grava Aston slammed into the gate, determined to use his weight to break it down or force the grizzly wires apart enough to crawl to the possibility of freedom beyond. 

The dull echo of impact reverberated through the air, sounding impossibly loud in the silence of the eternal march.  The metal was scorching hot to the touch, causing his skin to smoke and sear, forcing him to hurl himself away from it, stumbling over his own feet in his haste and falling hard to the ground.  All the while, the burns ate at him, setting nerves on fire and eating into his bones, causing him to rub them against the ground, desperate for some relief.

Images assaulted his mind as the memories of life came flooding back in a brutal wave.  His country, his wife, his friends and allies, enemies and plots… his daughters.  He recalled their first laughs, the way his youngest had danced through the halls even as her nursemaid scolded her, demanding she act like a lady while he laughed in delight at her sheer love of life. 

His mind remembered the all-consuming sadness of the day he’d been handed a scroll in a black case, tied with a blue ribbon and knew that his eldest and most beautiful daughter had finally succumbed to the sickness which had been wasting her body.  How his hand had trembled as he’d forced himself to unroll the cursed vellum and read the words which brought his worst pain to life.  So young, so beautiful… he’d never truly told her how much he’d loved her.

He remembered the city burning, the stink of smoke on the early morning wind and the cries of the palace staff as the harbour was consumed in a fiery holocaust.  He recalled the panicked flight through the castle, flanked by his knights and Eries, his beautiful silver haired daughter.  Her normally stoic features tight with worry as she begged the knights to search for Millerna.

The darkness of the tunnels beneath the castle, the shining golden hair of the youngest and most troublesome of his knights.  He could recall turning to the man, snarling that if the cause of this cowardly attack proved to once again be the knights accursed brother, he’d see the boy beaten and executed in the public square while the rest of the cursed family was sent into exile.

The walls around them shook, burned, exploded outwards.  The golden knight reached for Eries, even as his most trusted men lunged towards him, seeking to shield him with their own bodies…the flash, the heat and a brief moment of shocked pain… then the endless walking.

Crying out in pain and shock, the former king looked down at his hands, positive that he was going to see burned and blackened skin, but the pale smooth flesh was as unmarked and unmarred as it had been in life.   

Life… that is what he’d felt, what had burned him down to his soul.  The thing denied to him now, nothing but a painful memory of what once was, and had never been truly appreciated until it was gone.

Sobbing softly, he reached a trembling hand back towards the twisted wire and metal of the gate and all that it represented.  He had to go back!  He wasn’t finished living!  He didn’t want to be dead! 

               “Not so glorious now are you Aston?”  A voice dripping with mocking cruelty purred from up above his head, sending a new shot of pure dread through his body.  “Sitting on your ass in the dirt weeping over what you’ve lost.”  Aston didn’t want to look, didn’t want to acknowledge the demon and make it real, but despite his resolve, his traitorous eyes looked up and his nightmare became reality.

A demon perched atop the cap of the gate staring down at him with eyes the colour of molten rubies.  They shone brilliantly in contrast to the skin as pale as the bone woven into the gate and hair as white as a winter’s moon.  Huge wings as dark as the midnight sky and radiating all the icy cold of death spread out like a hawk ready to take flight, the feathers spread apart, poised to tear at the air. 

Those terrible eyes… he couldn’t stop looking at them, falling into them.  Tears spilled from them, shining with an unholy light as they slid down those pale cheeks, their strange light matched by the unnatural symbol branded on his brow, drawn in the shape of a strange third eye which stared down at him just as pitilessly as the pair beneath it. 

A demon, a bringer of curses and misfortune.  Worse, it was one he knew that he’d known in life.  In his foolish arrogance, he’d welcomed this beast into his realm and into his court, believing himself to be above its power.    If only he’d known! 

The whispering shadows which had hunted him were his minions, he knew this now and recognized his folly in running from them.  There would be no escape, no rescue, only their cold swords awaited his flesh.  Even now, they began to materialize around him, flashes of them seen between the walking throng like wolves glimpsed through trees.  Like those foul beasts, they each grinned viciously as they drew closer, eager for blood.  Meanwhile, their leader, upon seeing the despair written plainly across the dead king’s face, leaned forward slightly, a vicious grin splitting his face nearly in half. 

               “Nothing to say Aston?”  He asked, his words had a harsh lilt to them, lending an additional air of threat to his taunting.  “No grandiose boasts?  No insults or threats?  Oh, but I did so want to hear your empty bravado now that you weren’t perched on your little throne surrounded by knights to protect you.”  The demon sneered from his perch, leaning forward eagerly, those cursed wings of his spreading wider, their shadow trailing across the ground towards him. 

Something deep inside him warned that he didn’t want to touch that shadow.  Everything it touched grew frosted with the chill of something far worse than death, decorating the darkened metal of the gate with patterns of silvery lace, deceptively delicate.

               “Well now I’m the one on the throne Aston, and you’re the one facing my knights.  How does it feel to be powerless?  To be begging for mercy?  Come on you fat oaf, beg.”

Once, in life Aston had been a proud man of impeccable lineage.  He’d taken a grand city and built upon the legacy of his ancestors, doing them proud and ensuring unending prosperity for his kingdom and its children.  He’d known when to stand strong, when to compromise and most importantly, when to yield before a greater power.  While it still galled him to do so, he knelt there in the dirt, his head bowed low.

“Please…”  Grava gasped out, his voice sounding weak and snivelling even to his own ears.  “Please, I’ve done nothing to you.  Please let me be.”

               “Please?”  The demon chuckled in delight, amused at his words, drinking in his terror.  “You would beg me?  It wasn’t that long ago that you delighted in stripping what few things I had left to call my own.  You sat there, tall and proud upon your throne gloating at the sight of me brought low.  You would dare ask for mercy?  Me?”  That bone white face might have been beautiful once, but now it was twisted into a mask of malicious madness and Grava cringed at the sight of it.  “Do you hear this coward Gatti?”

               “No Lord Dilandau.”  One of the blue clad warriors spoke, his voice empty and emotionless.  A stark contrast to their leader who burned with all of the wild emotion of life.  “I only hear the mewling of vermin.”

               “Mmm indeed, indeed.”  The demon snickered in amusement at the answer.  Grava was too terrified to bring himself to argue even as he could see his doom unfolding around him.

               Those dark and terrible wings spread wide as the demon prepared to leap down to him, but the warrior who’d spoken held up a hand.

               “Don’t Lord Dilandau!”  He called out sharply.  “You can’t cross over into the Lands of the Dead, not without dying yourself.  This… offal isn’t worth the sacrifice of your life.”  Up above, the demon froze, not even a feather twitched as he stared down at his prey being denied him. 

               If Grava felt any hint of a reprieve, it was quickly destroyed by the way the other armoured youths stepped forward, their dead and washed out eyes glimmering with icy blue flames in their depths.  Each one was more than willing to do their master’s bidding while he watched from above.

               Those terrible and inhuman eyes narrowed in thought as the demon watched his men begin to close in and those monstrous wings relaxed, drawing themselves in towards his body.  A bright pink tongue slid across pale rose lips in anticipation and slender fingers gripped the edge of the cap eagerly. 

               “Once, you stood in judgement over me and my countrymen.” The demon intoned softly, those shining eyes never blinking, never wavering as they bore into him ruthlessly.  “You sought to bring low what was once great.  You stripped myself and my people of everything we held precious and sacred.  Everything we’d fought for centuries for.  You cloaked yourself in the illusion of mercy and made us all thank you while you ground us down into the dirt. 

“That victory wasn’t yours.  We’d defeated you over and over!  It was the actions of others which won you the war, and even they were sickened by your greed.  You, Grava Aston are a coward and a fool.  You forced me to swear to serve you and your damnable country and I have.”  The smile grew wider, crueller and each word dripped with anticipation as the wolves in human form edged closer to the fallen king.   
               “But you’re not king anymore Aston.  You’re nothing but a shadow, a memory upon the paths of the dead and now you’re at MY mercy.  Sadly for you, I’m not in a generous mood at all.”  Those dark wings spread wide once more as the demon leaned down from his perch, those inhuman eyes shining brilliantly in the otherwise nearly colourless land.  “I believe it’s long past time that my men took back some of what it was owed.”

Aston looked desperately for an opening as the ranks of armoured youths began to close around him, but there were too many, they were too alert to the locations of their members and there was no hole in their net to slip through.  For a moment, the former king pondered trying to claw his way through the gate and into the nothingness beyond, but then he’d have to face the demon himself.  The lands beyond were his, forever barred from the dead.

“Men.”  Fifteen pairs of eyes flared at the word, blue fire dancing along their bodies as they reached out black gloved hands towards the terrified man and he could feel the bitter cold lap along his skin.  “Let’s show this former king a little Zaibachi hospitality.” 

A cruel giggle of almost childish delight slipped past those pale lips as the youths surged forwards, eager for their taste of revenge and honoured to serve their glorious leader in even this small way.  Aston tried to scream, tried to fight, but it was too late.  It had been too late the moment he’d died. 

 

“Princess?”  Merle could barely hear her own voice in amongst the chaos surrounding them.  Everything was dark, the wet coppery stink of blood filled her nose and the screaming of terrified horses threatened to split her skull.  She could hear the pounding of their heavy hooves and knew that they were all in very real danger from the stupid beasts.  “Princess?!  Please answer me!”  She tried to raise her voice, but her throat hurt, and she could taste blood.

Something heavy slammed down near her head and she could smell singed hair.  The shrill scream of a horse tore through the air and she blindly rolled to the side just as another pair of hooves slammed down where she’d been laying, impacting hard enough to be felt through the earth beneath her feet.

The horse screamed again and this time she screamed back, baring her teeth and swiping out with her clawed hands.  Nothing but air, though that was likely a good thing.  She could dimly remember Dryden mentioning that they were warhorses, which meant they’d attack anything that posed a danger to them… even a stupid little catgirl.

The sudden movement seemed to be too much for her already abused body and nausea filled her, sending her crashing down to her knees.  Everything hurt and she felt so cold, her body shivering violently despite the nearby heat of a fire… wait… fire… she was in a stable, wasn’t she?

SERIOUSLY!?!

Oh this was not her day!  Feeling around the floor and praying to any god that might hear and take pity on her by keeping her safe from crazed horses, she tried to find the rest of the team and the royal couple, refusing to leave until she found them.

“ANYONE!?!”  She yelled with growing desperation, despite the fact that the very act of raising her voice made her want to throw up.  Even crawling around on her hands and knees was almost too much for her, but she refused to give in and curl up in a little ball like a scared kitten. 

Van couldn’t save her.  He was too busy fighting the enemy leviships to waste time on her, that meant that she had to stand on her own two feet.  As much as she loathed to admit it, that pale bastard of a captain was right, it was time that she stood on her own, that she learned her own inner strength rather than depending on others, especially if she wanted to live.

A hand!  Had she not been so exhausted, she’d have squealed in delight.  As it was, she allowed herself a deep sigh of relief as she felt around for a pulse.  The skin was cool, covered in a wet and sticky liquid which her nose warned her was blood, but yes, there was a pulse.  It was weak but steady.

Carefully feeling her way down the arm, checking for injuries along the way, she reached the shoulder, then neck, then head of the fallen human. 

“Hey!  Wake up!”  She hissed, giving the cheek a hard pinch and praying inwardly that it wasn’t one of the royals she’d just assaulted.  “If you’re alive, we need to find the others and get out of here!”

There was a soft groan and the feel of muscles moving beneath her fingers as whoever it was she was touching began to wake up.  Relief washed through her and she felt as if she could scream in victory at this tiny little win.  She wasn’t alone!

“Wha… Merle?  What happened?”  While she didn’t know everyone well enough to know their voices immediately, she certainly recognized the harsh zaibachi accent.  The Ambassador’s son!  Not someone she would normally care to give the time of day to, but her luck seemed to be holding because she knew that he was smart and handled himself well in bad situations.  Just the sort of person she needed right now.  “Shit!  You’re bleeding badly!  Look at me and tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” 

She could feel him move his body, sitting up most likely, and the sound of moving cloth reached her ears, but everything remained black.

“I can’t see you moron!”  She hissed.  “Help me get the others out of here.  They’re here right?  They’re still alive?”  Her ears flattened and her tail swished back and forth across the straw strewn floor.  While she didn’t think that the others would be callous enough to leave her behind in a burning stable, the idea of being surrounded by the dead was all too believable.

“They’re here… they’re all out cold I think… I hope.”  His voice faded slightly as he looked around and she could hear the clear worry in his voice.  “Here, come with me!  We need to get the royals out of here!”  There was no question as to who was going to be rescued first.  It was their duty to protect the future king and queen.  Something neither youth were willing to fail at, even if it meant their lives.

Rather than waste time trying to direct her, Regis grabbed onto her hand and pulled her forward as carefully as he could, then placed her hand down on a slender arm clad in soft silk.  The Princess.

“Just follow the sound of my voice.”  Regis instructed, speaking louder than normal to be heard over the chaos around them.  “Don’t let go of her, I don’t know how long this building is going to last.”  Alright, that wasn’t something Merle wanted to hear, and she knew that her fur was standing on end, but she didn’t’ utter a single word of protest as she began tugging at the princess, wishing over and over that she was taller…or that the princess was skinnier than she was. 

“Sorry your highness.”  She muttered as she dragged the woman across the rubble strewn floor of the stable.  Hopefully the princess wasn’t too badly injured, but there was no time for finesse.  They could tend to injuries once they were out of the burning building. 

On the up side, the horses seemed to have managed to kick down all the doors and fled, leaving them miraculously untrampled as they made their way to the courtyard. 

The air was noticeably cooler, though now human voices had replaced the screams of the horses as palace staff, nobles and guards raced about in confusion and panic.  Few seemed to know what to do and those who did were having a rather hard time wrangling the others into doing anything constructive by the sounds of it.

Thankfully, Regis hadn’t been raised among the soft walls of the Astorian palace and he grabbed onto the nearest passing guard, nearly knocking the man off of his feet.

“Guard the Royals!”  He ordered, his tone demanding immediate obedience in a way that Merle sort of had to admire.  “You and you!  Come with me!  There’s more people inside the stables who need help!”  There was the sound of heavy booted feet running by and then the sense of someone approaching.  Another guard by the smell of leather and the heavy footsteps.  She tensed despite herself, a soft growl of warning echoing in the back of her throat.

“Shh,”  The newcomer murmured gently, strong fingers stroked through her matted and singed hair, petting her the way one might a housecat and it made her fur bristle even more.  “It will all be over soon.”  He stated as his fingers tightened in her hair, grabbing onto it tightly and forcing her head back.  Though still blind, she easily heard a knife sliding free from its sheath and her soft growl turned into a full-throated shriek.

Before she was even fully aware of her body reacting, both hands had already lashed out, slicing deeply through the leather of the guard’s glove and into the tender skin beneath.  With movements that were more instinct than anything, she then grabbed at his belt, finding the hilt of his sword and grabbing it.  Twisting wildly, she tore the weapon free of its sheath and rolled free of his grip, losing several locks of hair in the process.

“MURDERER!”  She shrieked as loudly as she could, hoping that someone would hear and investigate.    Sure, she had his sword, but he had a knife, was twice her size and could see.  This wasn’t going to be a fair fight… or a long one.

“You little bitch.”  The guard snarled at her, his voice placed him off to the left and she shifted accordingly, her stolen weapon brandished in front of her as she placed herself between the man and the princess.  “I’m going to see you hung for that!”

“She’s your princess!”

“She’s a liability you stupid little beast!”  The guard spat at her as he lunged, his booted feet scraping across the gravel on the ground, giving her just enough warning to dive to the side.  The sound of the sword slicing through the air was far too close for comfort and she lashed out with her stolen sword, feeling it connect, but not well.  The edge scraped across his armour, doing little more than winding him.

“Stupid kitten.”  She growled softly at herself.  “You just HAD to pick a fight with a trained fighter when you were blind and hurt.  Fat lot of good I’ll be for Lord Van if I’m dead before he gets back!”   At least the princess was still behind her, safe from this traitor.  That had to count for something right?

Apparently not enough, because the guard leaped at her once more, this time knocking her sword aside and out of her hands, leaving her wide open for attack.  Instinct took over and she rolled backwards, kicking hard with her feet, the claws on her toes slicing into the leather of his armour, catching on the edge, then slicing deeply into flesh.  She could feel the hot squelch of blood between her toes as she kicked as rapidly as she could, hoping to distract the guard as she grabbed for her knives, the ones Dilandau had so kindly left buried in the tree after trying to kill her. 

Ha!   The joke was on him!  He might have just saved her life!  Stupid psychotic pretty boy!  A gauntleted fist slammed into her cheek hard enough to snap her head to the side and she tasted blood.  Another blow made her already tenuous grip on consciousness fade, but with the last of her strength, she finally grasped onto the knife on her belt and drove it up with as much force as she was able to.

The guard released her, throwing himself back as he clawed at the blade buried just beneath his armpit, piercing his lung.  Merle could hear the wet rasp of his breath coupled with the hot liquid rush of blood over her hand and she gathered up the last of her strength.  Clinging to the handle of the knife, she tore it free from its new fleshy sheath, only to lunge forward and plunge it into her attacker’s throat.

The gurgling stopped, as did his struggles, and only then did Merle take a deep breath, sinking down onto the body beneath her, her own shaking violently from its exertions and trauma.  For all her big talk, she’d never actually taken a life before.  Never killed a sentient creature who could walk and talk and think.  It was nothing like fishing, or hunting squirrels in the forest with Van.  This was murder she’d committed, and yes, she’d done it to save the life of the Princess as well as her own… but she’d still taken a life and felt irrevocably changed for it.

“Merle?”  Regis called out as he approached, shock and horror filling his voice.  “Empty Fate Merle!  What happened!?!?  IS HE DEAD!?!?”  Rough hands grabbed her, pulling her away from the body of the guard.

“Merle… what did you do?”  He gasped as the guards holding her up began to argue, none of them believing that a little blind and beat up cat girl had taken down one of their fellows.

“He… he tried to kill me… was going to kill the princess…Called her a … liability.”  She managed to force out through gritted teeth.  It hurt to speak.  Actually, it hurt to do anything, even breathe.  “You’ve got crappy timing… had to fight him myself.”  Her body sagged in the arms of her captors as the last of her energy was spent. 

This warrior thing wasn’t nearly as much fun as she thought it was.  When she woke up, she was going to resign… after she told psycho burn boy how his knife had just helped saved the princess.  Stupid jerk.  She hoped she could see his face when she told him.  It would be hilarious.

“Merle, you’re bleeding badly!”  Regis’ voice seemed to float up at her.  “Merle, stay awake for me!  Come on, keep fighting!”  Idiot.  He really should have shown up sooner.  Those Zaibach creeps all had terrible timing.

 

Van’s landing wasn’t one of his best, but in his defence, Dilandau was a rather awkward weight in his arms and he himself was about to fall over from exhaustion.  Not to mention, the courtyard was utter chaos.  One of the stables had blown apart and was burning, horses were running all over the place and there were a group of people gathered in a tight group yelling at each other in a way that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and his feathers bristle.

Escaflowne skidded to a stop, nearly clipping a horse or two before its claws sunk into the ground deeply enough to halt its momentum.  The resulting draft from its wings sent several members of the group to their knees, alerting everyone in the courtyard that King Van Fanel had arrived.

He had to admit even if just to himself that he likely cut a rather impressive figure, standing there atop his dragon armour, wings flaring out behind him, the tips of his pinions still smoking and Dilandau clutched protectively in his arms as the stables burned behind him.  Almost instantly, loud and fearful whispers of “Draconians”  and “The cursed ones!”  filled the air.  As if Astoria didn’t currently have enough problems, they just had to go looking for new ones.

Choosing to ignore the superstitious idiots, he searched the group for a familiar face and barely bit back a sigh as fate once again slapped him in the face.  Of course it would be Regis.  Damn the man, he seemed to always be at the center of everything. 

“This is your fault, I’m sure of it.”  He grumbled down at Dilandau’s unconscious form, more than half convinced that he could feel the bastard smirking.

“What happened here?”  He pitched his voice to carry over the chaos of the courtyard and felt a small flare of annoyance in seeing more than one person drop down to their knees, eyes fearfully downcast.  They didn’t have time for superstitious nonsense.  The damn palace looked like it was on fire, but there was no way he was leaving Dilandau alone amidst this chaos.

His elevated position and the fact that everyone was kneeling gave him a better view of what was going on in the center of the former mob and his heart sank as he saw a bedraggled blond woman laying unmoving on the ground next to an equally unconscious man.  Millerna and Dryden?!  What the hell had happened here? 

“King Fanel!  They want to arrest Merle!”  Regis yelled out, taking this moment to shake off the two guards pinning his arms, trying to pull him away from the equally unmoving figure he was practically standing on top of.  Van’s heart sank as he immediately recognized the familiar pink hair and orange fur.  For a moment, the king saw red and it was only his utter exhaustion which saved the lives of those soldiers gathered around his childhood friend

Flickers of energy danced across his pinions, but they lacked the strength to do anything.  Not that the crowd knew this.  All they saw was a cursed demon standing atop his lethal armour, glaring at them like death personified. 

“She needs medical attention!”  Regis stepped forward, taking the brunt of the king’s attention, his pale grey eyes locked on eyes which he could almost swear looked red.  “She saved the life of the Princess!”

Van was already in the air at those words, his mighty wings catching the air and sending him into the center of the mob.  Crying out loudly in shock and terror, the astorian’s scrambled out of his way, their eyes wide and fearful, but they were utterly ignored by the draconian king as he carefully placed Dilandau in Regis’ arms.

“If anyone touches him, I’ll kill you.”  He growled ominously at the zaibachi youth who nodded his head, staring down at his idol in rapt fascination, holding the unconscious albino tightly against his chest. 

As much as Van loathed releasing the seemingly fragile body of his lover, he knew that Regis would give his life to protect him.  Right now, Merle needed his help more and he wasn’t about to repay a lifetime of friendship by ignoring her in her time of need.

Kneeling next to the body of the catgirl, he could see the way the fur on her face was burned away, the tips of her ears were singed as was her hair.  A suspicious glance at the shattered stables earned him a sharp nod from Regis.

“We were escorting the Royals to the underground passages.  The nearest entrance was the stables… they… were rigged to explode.  Merle…”  He swallowed nervously, gripping Dilandau tightly, likely one of the few in the history of Gaea to draw comfort in the warlord’s touch.  “Merle and Cassian pushed her out of the way… they saved her life, but they were both hurt… Merle was blinded by the explosion.  I had to lead her out and she dragged the Princess with her.  She saved her life twice over and it makes no sense that she’d attack a guard.  She had to have been protecting the Princess.  It’s the only explanation.”

“Why would a guard attack the Princess?!”  One of the onlookers yelled out, more guts than brains by the looks of him and Van silenced him with a glare and a snarl.

“This is not the time or the place to sort this out.”  He snapped, returning his attention to his dear friend and checking her body for wounds.  What he saw made him wince in sympathy.  It pained him to see a sweet kitten like Merle injured and bleeding.  It didn’t matter that Dilandau had called her a warrior and given her a blade.  She was still his perky and faithful companion.  She didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Numerous cuts darkened her soft pelt with blood.  Judging by the ragged edges and the singed fur surrounding them, they’d been from the explosion, but the worst wound clearly was from a blade, likely a knife.  It has stabbed into her side, thankfully missing her major organs, but still bleeding heavily.  Coupled with her other wounds and who knew how much internal damage, he wasn’t about to breathe easily yet.

“Give me a cloth.”  He demanded, holding out one hand while his other pressed down over the wound.  A sash was placed in his palm and he quickly folded it up and placed it against the wound firmly, using her own weapon belt to hold it in place.  Thankfully, the fates decided to show some mercy and the bleeding seemed to be under control.  Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a moment, thanking all of the gods of Gaea for giving them this small reprieve.

“Is she going to be alright?”  A soft smoke roughened voice asked from off to the side and Van glanced over to see Dumbass… er… Dumas standing there.  The youth looked more than a little unsteady on his feet and was being held up by Tobias.  “She saved the Heir and the Princess.”  He stated, giving the surrounding guards a warning look worthy of the haughtiest of Astorian nobility.  “I saw it with my own eyes.  She and the other cat saved them.  There’s no way she’d then turn around and attack a guard.  Not without a good reason.”

Some of the guards nodded their heads and stepped back, but there were still a large enough number who were frustrated, scared and confused enough to try to take it all out on any convenient target.  They were the ones to worry about and the noble recognized it readily enough.  Drawing himself up to his full height and pulling away from Tobias in order to take a few arrogant steps towards the largest of the guards, the youth glared at him as if he was the king Himself and not a bedraggled soldier. 

“My father is Lord Dominic DeTherion, who happens to be very good friends with Sir Montegue Montaigne, the captain of the castle guards.”  Dumas all but hissed, his eyes narrowing rather impressively, sparing only the briefest of glances at the man’s rank insignia.  “He would be Most displeased to hear that some of his men stood around guarding a simple kitten during an emergency when there were injured civilians all around them.  Sergeant.” 

To his credit, the guard looked suitably ashamed and glanced around himself, as if only just now noticing the sheer number of injured, both from the explosions and the subsequent stampede of warhorses. 

“The cat is my partner and I will take full responsibility for her actions.”  Van was honestly at a loss for words.  He’d never seen a noble stand up for a beastkin before… well, other than himself, the royals and Allen.  The others simply considered them to be too far beneath them.

“If I might point something out…”  Regis spoke up from where he still stood there, holding Dilandau tightly against himself, doing his best to keep those long awkward wings from being stepped on.  “This was a deliberate attempt on the lives of the Royal heirs.  Their escape passage was sabotaged.”  He paused for a moment, his cool grey eyes meeting those of several of the guards.  “The Royal heirs were nearly assassinated, yet where are the Knights Caeli?  They failed to appear during the attack on the city and still are mysteriously absent.  Something had to have happened to them.” 

“A draconian curse!”  Someone in the crowd yelled out, but the zaibachi youth quickly spoke over them, his voice carrying with surprising force.

“Sabotage!”  He countered quickly.  “This was a deliberate attack from Basram and it was the draconians who saved us from them!  This is an all too human evil and it must be stopped before the other Royals are placed in danger!  We must find the king!” 

That was all the incentive the rest of the guards needed and with shared looks of horror at the thought of losing their beloved ruler, they raced off to locate not only the Monarch, but any signs of further chaos. 

Regis spared their retreating forms a cool look then turned to face two dusty but otherwise uninjured palace servants.  “You two, go fetch healers for the Royal Heirs!  I don’t want to risk moving them without their approval!” 

As they too raced off, Van glanced over at Regis, his eyes narrowed in speculation.  The zaibachi youth shrugged slightly and glanced pointedly at both Dilandau and Merle, both unconscious and wholly vulnerable.

“The best place for a saboteur or an assassin to hide is in a crowd.”  He replied simply.  “I don’t want anyone around us that I don’t trust.  The coincidence it too great to ignore, Palas coming under attack the day after you both return from being kidnapped from this very castle?”  A strawberry coloured brow rose up as Van silently cursed himself for not drawing the same conclusions.

“You think there’ll be other attacks on us?”

“The two of you just single handedly stopped the attack on Palas.  I have no doubt that any spies and assassins hidden within the palace just put you to the top of their priority list.”

“Empty fate, did I just hear intelligent words come out of that idiotic mouth of yours?  Clearly some of my genes managed to make it into that little cesspit you call a genepool.  Pity it wasn’t more of them.”  Sibille strode out from behind the remains of the stables, surprising neither youth though the rest of the team stiffened and placed their hands on their swords.  Van was more than a little impressed that all these astorian nobles recognized the danger she posed despite being a woman.  It seemed that there was hope for them yet.  Dilandau would be so pleased. 

Speaking of, Sibille strode over to the unconscious captain and pulled back his eyelids, checking them with interest before checking his pulse.  Whatever she was looking for, she wasn’t pleased.

“We need to get him to the Fortress as soon as possible.”  She warned.  “He’s in shock.”  Turning to Van, she fixed him with an icy glare, as if trying to make the king back down through the power of her will alone.  Had it been a lesser man, he would have backed off, but Van had stood his ground against both Dilandau and Folken more than once.  There was no way this woman, no matter how intimidating was going to unnerve him.

“I saw the flash in the sky.  What did you two do?  There’s no way he should be in that state without a mark on him.”

“They dropped an energist bomb.”  The king replied and his words were met with various vulgarities from their team and shocked gasps from the few nobles who’d continued to gawk.  Several women swayed badly, faint from the horror of how close they’d all come to death, only to be propped up by their men… who looked about ready to pass out as well.

“Dilandau pulled the energy into himself, trying to contain it, but it was too much… I sent it all out into the sky, the space between worlds.”  It sounded fanciful and insane the way he said it so matter of factly, but no one dared to argue.  They could see the wings on the two youths and knew that this wasn’t the first time that Van had achieved the impossible.

“We need to get him to Geetha.”  Sibille grumbled.  “She’ll know what to do.”  The very idea of placing the pale youth under the care of one of those zaibachi butchers made Van nauseous, but he knew that if he didn’t, it could very easily hurt Dilandau.  The dragonslayer had been pushing himself to the brink repeatedly for far too long.  His heart was badly overtaxed, not to mention every other organ. 

“Merle comes with us.”  He stated, his voice warning that he wasn’t about to bend on this.  “Any of the critically injured will be transported to the Fortress for medical attention.  Our Med bay is far superior to anything found in Palas and I won’t allow a single life to be at risk needlessly.”  He glanced over at the two Royals, still laying there on the ground.

Two guards stood by them nervously while a third was carefully checking their wounds.  A strip of cloth was already wrapped around Princess Millerna’s brow, a bright crimson stain leaking through.  It was only one of many injuries, though from what he could tell, none of them appeared to be immediately life threatening.  Most seemed to consist of burns to her hands and arms, likely from shielding herself from the initial blast. 

Next to her, Dryden was moaning softly, on the verge of awakening.  Like his wife, he was mostly dealing with light burns, though a few on his arms were already blistering.  Several thick locks of hair had been singed away and there was a deep cut to his cheek which would likely leave a scar.

“They will come with us as well.”  He announced, earning defiant glares from the guards as well as Sibille.  Ignoring her, he glared at the soldiers.  “Someone within the palace just tried to murder them.”  There shouldn’t have been the need to remind them of this seeing as how the stable still burned merrily behind them and the body of the possibly would be assassin lay only a few feet away.  “Until the Knights Caeli are found and able to properly protect them, they will be under the protection of Fanelia.  No one in the Fortress has been here long enough to be able to either plan or implement this attack, so they are not suspect.  Everyone else is.”

Sibille shot him a look of respect at those words, but Van did his best not to look at her, though he did give himself a little mental pat on the back.

“You can’t simply take our Heir and the Princess!”  One of the guards snapped, his hand moving towards his sword.  Rather than drawing his own blade, Van allowed his wings to flare out, catching the light of the sun and shining shinning brilliantly.

“I am King Van Slanzer Fanel, Sovereign ruler of Fanelia, Ally of Astoria, Pilot of Escaflowne, and Hero of the Destiny War.”  He stated with every bit of royal dignity behind his voice.  “I will protect Heir Dryden and Princess Millerna with my own life if need be, as will everyone aboard that fortress.”

The guard’s hand moved away from his weapon, though it was an even guess on whether it was from the speech or the fact that there was a rather angry demon standing in front of him, delivering an ultimatum.  Either way, Van wasn’t going to waste this moment.  Carefully taking Dilandau from Regis’ arms, he looked at the zaibachi youth.

“I need you to get on one of the alseides radios and contact the ship.  Tell them that we need a ship down here as close to where I’m standing as possible.  I don’t want to move anyone anymore than we must.  We don’t know what sort of injuries we’re going to be dealing with.  We’re going to also need anyone with any basic medical training helping in the city itself.”  He glanced over at the few guards still remaining within his line of sight.

“You and you, grab a contingent of men and get down to the harbour.  Commandeer a structurally sound warehouse and set it up as a medical center.  I need any able-bodied man woman and child there who isn’t fighting fires to help the injured.  We need to keep fatalities to a minimum and the longer we wait, the harder it’s going to be.” 

“King Fanel,”  Regis addressed him formally, bowing slightly to remind everyone nearby that yes, this young man  had best be obeyed.  “The facilities on the fortress are already strained.  I would suggest implementing a triage, bringing only the worst or most … delicate cases there.”  His gaze flickered over to the royal couple, making it clear what he meant by that.  “We have the technology to handle what would be impossible here.  While we do have limits, it will give the injured their best shots at survival.”

“Agreed.  I want a ship here as soon as possible.”  Giving his head a brusque nod, Van felt a swell of satisfaction in seeing how quickly the young lord bowed then spun off towards the alseide’s sheds.  Moving quickly, it was as if he wasn’t already exhausted.  Though he was sporting a distinct limp, he didn’t seem to be letting it slow him down.  The urgency of the situation was well and truly felt.

It was a small miracle that the great war machines of Zaibach had been spared from all but the most minimal of damage, though on second thought, perhaps there was some ulterior motive behind it.  No doubt the saboteurs had either wanted the machines for themselves or had figured that without Dilandau there to teach anyone, they were nothing but menacing looking statues.  Their enemies clearly had much more precise targets in their sights.

Looking back at the fallen heirs, Van felt a shudder of dread run through his body.  There were layers of subterfuge and malice at work here that he simply wasn’t mentally equipped to deal with or understand.  He understood the tactics of the battlefield, the intricacies of court politics and trade deals, not… this.  This was where Folken had excelled, where Dilandau and his devious mind shone.

The harbour had been one level, a feint to distract them, to ground the ships and leave them vulnerable.  The bomb… Another shudder, causing him to hold Dilandau closer, eliciting a soft moan from the dragonslayer.  The bomb was supposed to kill them all, to turn Astoria to a crater of black glass to be filled in by the sea… but the rest… He didn’t understand it, didn’t want to understand it.  The very concept sickened him.

It was all so overwhelming and for a moment, all he could do was bury his face against the chill skin of his lover’s body, breathing in the familiar scent of his flesh, mixed with the ominous sharp smell of crima metal.

“Dammit Dilandau, wake up.  I don’t want to deal with this alone.”  He murmured softly, his own exhaustion weighing heavily on his spirit.  How much longer could he keep plowing forward before he fell?  How much more weight could rest on his shoulders before they broke?

Instead of torturing himself with what he couldn’t wrap his mind around, he instead focussed on what he could in fact deal with, and that was preparing this area for an incoming leviship.

Donning his mask of King Van once more, he turned to the rest of the crowd, he did his best to make eye contact with each of them, even if but for a moment.  He’d learned that little trick from watching Dilandau and had seen how well it worked in imposing his will on others. 

“You lot, look for injured and help bring them here.  Find some bedding or cloth for them to lay on but keep the injured as close to the building as possible.  There will be a leviship landing here shortly.  Check all the ruined buildings and anywhere that has smoke.  You and you.”  He motioned towards two servants dressed as stable hands.  “Get those horses tied up and under control before they hurt anyone.  Lock them in a storehouse if you have to.” 

“Sir…”  It was Dumas speaking, sounding as if he wasn’t sure if it was his place, but seeing as how he was now the only ranking noble in the area, it fell onto him to deal with the king.  “Sir, you look exhausted.  Please sit and have some water at least.”

“He’s right.”  Sibille spoke up from where she crouched over what looked like Cassian who was laying on the ground, unconscious but breathing.  “You’re dead on your feet.  Take care of yourself before that becomes a literal description.”

“I don’t have time.”  Van replied, his eyes scanning the courtyard, positive that he’d missed something important.  “We don’t know if the people who did this are still around, we don’t know what happened to the Knights Caeli.  Gods of Gaea, we don’t even know why they did all this!  Why strike a blow like this?  Why go to such lengths?”

“It makes no sense.”  Dumas’s voice was barely above a whisper as he looked around at the damage to the courtyard, knowing that the city beyond the walls had fared much worse than them.  “That really was an energist bomb wasn’t it.”  There was no inflection behind his words, just the dull realization of how close they’d come to complete destruction.  “You weren’t just making that up.”

Sibille froze for a moment at those words, glancing over at the king and weighing his response out of the corner of her eye.  She wasn’t the only one.  What had sounded like a wild story only a few moments ago now seemed far too real.  One by one, all heads lifted, eyes locking on the brilliant star which still burned high in the sky as if raging at the lives which had escaped its deadly kiss.

Only Van didn’t bother looking.  He’d seen enough of that foul star.  He’d held it in his hands as it had been born and nearly died because of it.  Even now, he could feel the burns on his palms and the rawness to his nerves which warned that his current calm was only temporary.  Soon enough he’d crumble as his mind struggled to assimilate everything he’d seen and done… everything he’d almost lost.

Unable to stop himself, Van nodded his head, holding Dilandau a little closer.  As if sensing the movement, no matter how slight, Dumas looked back down at Van and shuddered, his already pale face draining utterly of colour.

“They planned to kill everyone… to turn Palas to ash.”  Van whispered into locks of silvery white hair, trying to lose himself in the silken texture as he elaborated on his tale.  “Dilandau… he absorbed the energy of the explosion even though it tore him apart inside.  I felt him burning…hear him screaming in my head.  I… I couldn’t let him die, so I sent it all away, made it explode far away in the sky where it couldn’t hurt anyone… but it nearly killed us.  If we hadn’t been here… Gods of Gaea… if we hadn’t used the Pillar of light to get here, we would have arrived to a hole in the ground.” 

He felt his stomach churn at the implications, wondering yet again at the amazing coincidences of their lives.  So many times, they’d been at the right place at just the right time but facing so many horrors in between those moments.  They were like birds trying to fly through a storm, prisoners of the wind and praying they weren’t dashed against the ground.

“It doesn’t make sense though.”  Dumas continued, looking around at the chaos around them.  So many injured, so many traumatized… but they were alive.  Against all the impossible odds, they had survived.  “If they’d done this in the middle of the night, it would have been over in seconds.  All they had to do was fly overhead and drop the bomb.  Why… why this?”  He motioned towards the destruction though he meant the harbour and the city around it just as much as the injured filling the courtyard.

“He wanted Aston to see death coming.”  A soft voice, barely a whisper spoke up and both youths looked down to see Dilandau watching them, his eyes just a glimmer of crimson beneath the pale veil of his lashes.

“What do you mean?”  Van asked, trying to adjust his hold on the dragonslayer to make him more comfortable without it being obvious.  It showed how spent the pale teen was by the fact that he didn’t offer a single word of protest, saving his energies for explanation.

“Tseng… it was Tseng’s idea.  He …wanted to break Aston… shatter him… tear everything away.  Tseng wanted… total v… victory.”  Dilandau’s eyes rolled slightly as he struggled to stay conscious and force the words out, causing them both to strain to hear him.  “Seal his escape…. Slaughter his people…. Let him see it… all happen…give him…just… just long enough to understand… to see the end…then take everything.  It’s… no… no fun… unless there’s an … audience.”  Those few words seemed to sap away the last of Dilandau’s energy and he sighed heavily and rested his head against Van’s shoulder, too tired to care about how weak he looked.

“Yeah, that sounds like that fat bastard.”  Sibille grumbled, glancing around the courtyard before looking back up at the new morning start.  “He’s a melodramatic fool, too in love with the spectacle of war to be subtle.”  Glancing over in Dilandau’s direction, she smirked slightly.  “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Van shot her a dark look, but it was Dumas who spun around, his eyes wide and searching for anyone near enough to be given an order.

“We need to find the king.”  He yelled out, panic making his voice shrill.  The soft chuckle which followed his statement was barely heard, but its sheer inappropriateness grabbed everyone’s attention as effectively as if they’d been slapped.

“Too late.”  Dilandau murmured, his lips barely moving and his voice little more than a whispered breath.  “Dead… King is dead… long live the king…”  He giggled softly, his head still lolling against Van’s shoulder.

“NO!”  Dumas yelled out, looking ready to reach out and shake the barely conscious captain.  “He’s not!  The King is alive!” 

“Dead… dead dead…dead.”  The dragonslayer dreamily sang to himself, leaving Van to fervently pray in his head that his partner hadn’t done something nefarious in those few moments when he’d been bursting with the power of a sun.

“We have no way of knowing for sure.”  Van cut in before Dumas could truly lose his self control.  Though just to be safe, he carefully folded a wing around Dilandau, shielding him from any possible harm.  “But you said that the Knights Caeli are missing, leaving the heirs vulnerable, something could have disabled the knights around the king as well.  Do you know where they might have gone?”

“Likely the catacombs beneath the palace, that’s where the Heir and Princess were heading.”  Dumas replied quickly, glancing back at the still burning ruins of the stable.  A shudder went through his body as it began to hit him how close he’d just come to death and Van could tell that the noble teen was on his last legs.  His quiet and spoiled life had come to an end and now his eyes were being forced open.  It was a lot to take in all at once, but Van had no time to coddle him.  This was where he got to see if Dilandau’s instincts were right in selecting this scrawny and soft noble for his elite unit, or if his vaunted powers of perception had finally failed him.

“Only the royal family knows the way through the catacombs.  Anyone else trying would be lost.  It’s a maze down there and rumour has it that there’s deadly traps as well.”  He paused for a moment then looked down at Merle who still lay at their feet.  “A beastkin could track them though… if he knew the king’s scent.  But Merle isn’t going to wake up anytime soon, and if we forced her awake, it would probably make her worse in the long run.” 

Van couldn’t quite keep the look of shock off his face, but Dumas clearly saw it and smiled weakly.

“She saved my life… all our lives.  I would be a rather honourless sort to reward her sacrifice with ill actions.”  He replied softly.  “I still don’t like her mind you.” 

“It’s a good idea though.”  The king replied, impressed at the turnaround of the noble.  Who knew it would only take an all out attack and the saving of one’s life to get a noble to act civil towards a beastkin.  “Sibille, find Rushah.”  He ordered.  “Allen will be with the king, and Rushah should be able to track him through the catacombs.  Go with him in case there’s trouble.” 

“Don’t either of you dare get killed while I’m playing the hero.”  She growled, but to her credit, she didn’t argue with him or throw some crude insult in his direction.  As aware of the stakes as the rest of them, she spun around on her heel and raced off across the courtyard without any further word.

It was odd that immediately after her departure he suddenly became aware of just how vulnerable he was.  Exhausted, his arms full of barely conscious dragonslayer, with only Dumas and Tobias to guard him, both youths looking nearly as tired and shell-shocked as he was, they painted a very tempting picture for any would be assassin.

Sensing his sudden tension, the two astorian youths stood a little taller, their eyes scanning the courtyard for possible enemies laying in wait, their hands barely trembling as they rested on the handles of their swords.  They were green, untried and weak, but Van found himself smiling slightly as he watched them dredge up the courage to stand their and guard their leaders with their lives.

Perhaps there was hope for them after all.

 

 

Princess Eries was exhausted.  Her arms ached, her legs trembled, and every breath was met with a lung crushing cough from the dust in the air.  Long normally pristine hair which usually fell about her body like a veil of molten silver was now tied back messily with the remains of one of her now ruined silk gloves, keeping it out of her face as she dug. 

Her body wasn’t used to any sort of physical exertion, but she didn’t voice a single word of complaint as she worked alongside the surviving knights.  This simple brute labour was better than any of the alternatives.  Their lives hung in the balance and who knew what sort of calamity was taking place up above their heads.  If she sat down and let her aching body rest, then her mind would be given free rein to dwell upon her helplessness, her grief and her terror.

King Aston, her father was dead, buried beneath the rocks behind them, his body possibly lost forever.  Her heart screamed at her to turn around and find him, some silly childish fantasy believing that he could still be alive.  He was her father after all, nothing could stop him!

But the war had cost him more than his pride.  Sickness had dogged him ever since the vicious attack on the city and his health had been growing more precarious every day despite his efforts to hide it from everyone.

 _“Never let them see your weakness.”_   He’d always told her.  _“When you are weak, appear strong.  When you are strong, play the weakling and take advantage of their overconfidence.  Never let your opponent see you as you truly are.  Everything is an act, the greatest of plays.  Hold your audience enraptured with the tales you spin, never stop until the final curtain falls.”_

Now he was gone.  First Mother, then Marlene and Mahad.  Now him…  Gritting her teeth, she grunted in a rather indelicate manner as she picked up a heavy rock, struggling beneath its weight.  Her fingernails were already all broken, her hands torn and bleeding, causing her grip to grow slick.  She’d taken a few moments to wrap ragged strips of cloth from her gown around them, but they’d long ago soaked through.

The few surviving knights moving rocks beside her also sported pale cream silk bandages torn from her skirts.  Her legs were shockingly bare up to her bruised thighs in a rather unseemly display of flesh, but she barely batted an eye at her impropriety.  What would have horrified her mere hours ago now seemed pointless.  The health of her knights was far more important than her modesty.

Her knights…

Her tired and sorrow filled eyes found their way to where those too injured to work lay.  Three knights saved from the explosion and cave in.  Sir Rizzardo hadn’t moved in the last half hour, his skin had a sick greyish hue to it, and she wasn’t sure if the slight rise and fall of his chest was her imagination or not.  None of them expected him to make it.  Sir Francesco had a shattered arm, the limb bound tightly to his scabbard in an effort to keep the bone… what was left of it straight in an effort to save it.  Chances were that he would never use it again.

Lastly… Sir Allen, the man who’d saved her life, possibly at the expense of his own.  He lay there unmoving and dangerously pale beneath the blood which stained the skin of his face.  Handsome features were hidden beneath vicious swelling were several rocks had struck his face.  His abdomen was dark from internal bleeding, but the worst was his leg.  Like the other knight, his sword had been used as a splint, but the rocks had crushed one limb, reducing it to torn and bloody meat.  The other was broken in two places and bound with Sir Rizzardo’s sword.  Chances were that the man wouldn’t be needing it again in this lifetime, but it still felt like an ill omen.

His life hung in the balance and was ticking away with every breath.  They’d lost so many in a matter of mere seconds, but the worst was watching these slow deaths, knowing that she could do nothing.  Was it wrong to wish that her sister Millerna were here in her place?  At least she’d be able to do something to heighten their chances of survival, or at the very least, ease their pain.

Guilt filled her at the memory of how many times she’d chided her sister for pursuing her interest in medicine, doing her best to discourage the brilliant young woman from such improper studies.  Her sister…

“Please Great and Holy Jeture,” She prayed softly as she picked up another rock, then another.  The rubble blocking their escape seemed endless.  “Please protect my sister.  Take my life if you must, but don’t let the Royal Lineage die.  Save her, out of all of us, she’s the most deserving.”  Let others quietly scoff at her piety, but she knew that greater powers than those of man dwelled upon Gaea.  Greater and at times, much darker.  She’d seen an innocent young maiden turn into a vicious and crazed warlord before her eyes, seen demons of legend save the world itself with a wish of love and spoken to a traveller from the Mystic Moon who would twist reality with her hopes and dreams.  Surely prayer could hold a power of its own.  So long as it wasn’t used for selfish purposes, perhaps Jeture, in His infinite wisdom would answer it.

Her quiet prayer was echoed by those around her, each one wishing for the safety of loved ones rather than their own, vowing to give their own lives for the protection of the city above and just on the edge of her hearing, prayers softly begging the Great Dragon to grant her safe passage back to the world above, no matter the cost to themselves.  It was both moving and heartbreaking that they have come to this, and she silently vowed to ensure that each and every one of her knights saw the sun again.

 “Princess!”  Sir Benvolio hissed, his voice loud in the small space.  “I hear something!”  Everyone froze at his words, exchanging weighted looks with each other. 

It was hard to hear at first, but the continued silence seemed to amplify the sounds.  Voices calling out, the sounds of rocks being moved.  Was it help? Or their would-be assassins come to finish the job?  If that was the case, there was little they could do to stop them.  Sir Benvolio was the only remaining knight capable of either digging or defending their small group.  Sir Franceso, unable to wield a sword due to his arm gamely drew his boot knife, wincing at the movement but voicing no complaint.  Both knights waited for her decision on how they would act.

“We either take the risk, or this passage becomes our graves.”  She finally spoke, glancing over at the cave in which had already claimed so many.  “Sir Benvolio, you are the best warrior among us, if they prove to be enemies, leave us.  Run back to the surface and find my sister.  Protect her with your life and ensure that she knows of this foul treachery.”

“With all due respect Princess, I will not.”  His dusty brows lowered as he frowned, their usual vibrant golden brown dulled like the rest of them, making the blue of his eyes shine like polished beryls.

“She is your queen now, not I.”  Eries protested softly, too exhausted to raise her voice in reprimand.  “Her life must be protected at all costs.”

“Agreed.”  The older knight intoned gently.  “But Princess, we have no way of knowing if she even lives.  The entire castle may have been torn apart above our heads.  All I do know is that you are here in front of me and alive.  I must trust in my brothers in arms to keep her safe wherever she is, as they will be trusting me to ensure your safety.  I will not betray their trust, nor the trust of our King.  He would not have wished me to abandon you in your time of need.”

“Sir Benvolio is correct Princess.”  Sir Francesco agreed, his voice roughened from his pain but still possessing steel beneath it.  “No knight worth the title would abandon a damsel in distress, let alone their Princess.  Besides, Sir Allen may very well have given his life to pull you to safety, we will not dishonour his sacrifice so crassly on the chance that Princess Millerna is alive.”

“She is Queen Millerna now.”  Eries chided them both, focussing on the future in order to keep herself moving forward.  It was hard not to look over at Allen’s body, laying there on the hard ground, shattered and fading away from this life.  He was the closest thing she’d ever had to a true friend. 

When the alarms had sounded, she’d seen how badly he’d wanted to go racing to his little brother’s side.  He’d lost his sibling so many times in such horrible ways, the thought of possibly losing him again had to have been torturous, not to mention his growing loyalty to King Van.  But he’d remained at the King’s side without question or complaint, protecting him with his own flesh and blood, following them into the depths of the catacombs despite knowing that he could very well be losing what he’d only so recently regained.

He’d sacrificed so much for them, for her.  All these knights had, and while her father might simply have said that it was their duty as Knights Caeli, Eries knew that this was different.  She would not allow anymore of these proud and noble men to die in the darkness beneath their shining palace.  They would live!  If she had to pick up a sword herself and defend them, she would!

Her lips thinned as she pressed them together, accepting her decision and any of its possible consequences with her usual noble grace.  Squaring her shoulders and raising her chin, she stared at the pile of rubble separating them from possible rescue they way she would with a possibly hostile royal envoy. 

“Very well.”  She intoned gravely then drew in a deep and dust filled breath.  “We’re in here!”  Though she used the full power of her lungs, she immediately regretted her lifetime of speaking in soft and demure tones.  It had left her voice ill equipped for the level of volume needed to carry through the rubble.  Thankfully, the two knights took up the call, followed by a burst of renewed digging on their part.

She quickly lost track of time after that. Nothing mattered but moving one rock after the next, the desperate need to reach those voices, to create a link back to the outside world.  No one had breath to waste on speaking so it was quite a shock when that final huge rock was pulled away to reveal the huge tooth filled jaws of a giant wolf man. 

His dark fur was filthy with dust, but his teeth and eyes shone in the torchlight of the tunnels, making them seem to glow ominously like some demon out of a nightmare.

Startled, Eries gave a sharp cry and stumbled back into Sir Benvolio who caught her with one hand and drew his sword with the other, prepared to fight to the death if need be.

“Come no closer beast!”  He yelled out loudly, the naked steel catching the creature’s attention and giving it pause more than the command given.  Those huge teeth were bared in clear challenge and Eries whispered a quiet prayer before stepping forward, out of the knight’s arms and into harms way, staring the wolf man in the eyes and doing her best to project regal calm.

“Attempts have been made on our lives and we’ve injured men here.  Are you friend or foe?”  She asked, managing to keep her voice calm and level.

“Princess!”  Sir Benvolio gasped out, reaching out to pull her back behind him, but she held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks, her gaze never once wavering from those glowing golden eyes which stared into hers.

“Typical astorian gratitude.”  A woman’s voice cut through the tense silence which followed the stare down, her voice just as hard as her accent.  “Get ordered by some damn wet behind the ears king to leave my post in order to go dig in the dirt for you royals, only to have you turn swords on us?  Perhaps I should ask my dear friend Rushah to put this rock back where he found it?  You lot don’t look strong enough to move it.”

“Zaibach spies!”  Sir Francesco spat out, gripping his knife in white knuckled hands.

“Zaibach saviours.”  The woman spat back boldly from where she stood, obscured in the shadows beyond the torchlight.  “Not to mention the chief of the Red Paw wolf clan.  Now, are you going to put that little toy away, or shall I drive it through your eye socket?”  Her voice dropped to a low growl, echoed by the wolf man and Eries felt her breath quicken.  There was no doubt in her mind that this woman and her beast ally were fully capable of doing what she’d claimed.

Before either of the knights could react, Eries nodded her head.

“Sheathe your blades.  We either trust them or die.”  She ordered, motioning for her men to step back.  “Five of us survived the explosion and cave in.  Two of those fight for their lives and could very well die if they’re moved.” 

It was difficult to keep her voice level and calm sounding when the huge beast man slipped through the hole he’d made, revealing his full size.  Sweet Jeture, he was a monster!  Massive muscles stood out beneath thick dark fur when they weren’t hidden beneath night black armour.  Triangular ears swivelled back and forth, taking note of everything around him and the princess had no doubt that he could likely defeat the two remaining Knights Caeli with little effort.

At his side was a woman who moved like death.  Tall but slender of build, she wore simple leathers cut in a blatantly zaibachi style and her long dark hair was pulled back in a tight braid.  There was nothing soft about this woman, not her eyes, her expression or her words.  This was a warrior born and bred, a lethal one at that.

Cursing softly in zaibachi, the strange woman’s sharp jade eyes focussed on Allen laying on the ground and her hands clenched into fists, but rather than go to his side, she instead fixed Eries with that deadly stare.

“You’re guaranteed that they’ll die if they don’t move.  The decision is yours on the others, but we’re taking the blond bastard with us.  His brother will never let me hear the end of it if I let him die down here.”  Both newcomers looked around the room before looking at each other, sharing a weighted glance.  “Where is the king?”  She woman demanded, not bothering to waste words on anything but the most necessary information.

“Lost, beneath the rocks.”  The princess replied, swallowing hard to keep her voice steady beneath that steely glare.  “We’ve lost many lives today.”

“You nearly lost all lives today.”  The warrior woman spat.  “You owe those two winged brats your lives and your kingdom.  Don’t you dare forget it.”  Having no clue as to what she was talking about, Eries simply nodded her head.

“Rushah, can you carry the dolt without killing him in the process?  We haven’t finished our fight and by fuck, I won’t let him die unless it’s with my sword in his guts.”  She snarled at the wolfman in Basrami.  Eries silently praised her many language tutors, enabling her to follow the conversation, though it appeared that her knights had not been so thoroughly educated. 

For his part, the great beast seemed to take his partner’s vulgarity in stride and walked over to Sir Allen with remarkable care.  Making a point of not touching him, though he did study the unconscious man intently, drawing in several deep breaths, as if taking in his scent.

“It will cause him great pain to move him.”  He replied in a deep growling voice which was laced with a surprising amount of concern.  It surprised the princess to hear such a human voice come from an animal’s face, but the emotion behind his words relaxed her somewhat.  “Nakahi will not be pleased.”

“I didn’t ask if he’d be comfortable.  I asked if it would kill him.”

“I can move him and carry him.  Whether or not he lives is in the hands of the gods…unless our winged brothers can heal him in time.  The other… the stench of death surrounds him.  His soul has already left, his body simply hasn’t realized this yet.”

“Fucking figures.”  The woman grumbled.  “Alright, you take one end of the rag he’s laying on.  I’ll take the other, we’ll keep it as steady as possible.  If you wish your other friend to at least die seeing the sun your highness, I suggest you do the same with him.  You, with the ruined hand.  Make yourself useful and carry the torch for us.  The last thing I want to do is trip and kill someone accidentally.”

“Princess?”  Both knights looked at her for leadership, unsure of how to proceed.  It was risky, and chances of Sir Rizzardo surviving were miniscule, but the woman was right, they were guaranteed to die if they remained.

“We prayed for a miracle.”  She finally said, bending down to pick up her end of the cloak beneath the dying knight.  “It would be a shame to scoff at it once it appeared.”

 

“His energy levels are dangerously low.”  Geesha murmured as she pressed some strange box-like device against Dilandau’s skin, taking a small sample of blood and analyzing it.  “His life isn’t in danger.” She amended quickly, noticing the stricken look on Van’s face.  “But he could do permanent damage to himself if he continues to push himself.  His body wasn’t designed to create so many gross fate alterations, let alone in such a short time period.”  Her thin bony hand reached out to stroke the shimmering black feathers of Dilandau’s wings, but Van held the dragonslayer closer against his body, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

The king had found a place for them in the shade of Escaflowne’s wings, curling up beneath the fearsome armour, seeking as much privacy and distance as they could.  He held his once enemy tightly in his arms, resting on a cloak provided by one of the guards.  Another cloak was wrapped neatly around the unconscious captain in an attempt to preserve what little body heat he still had, while the king’s large white wings were wrapped around them both.  It was necessary in his eyes seeing as how Dilandau’s own majestic wings were sprawled out limply over the cloak, doing little to keep him warm.

Their position screamed of vulnerability and it was all Van could do to not attack the green haired woman on sight.  Instead, he sat there calmly while she kneeled next to them, poking and prodding at his unconscious lover.    Thankfully, she’d stopped referring to him as an “it” or as “Subject 35”.  He was pretty sure that if she had done that, he’d have taken her head off and accepted the consequences.

Drawing her hand back, she quickly jotted down her findings in that strange spidery writing favoured by the madoushi and pocketed her device.  Reaching into the large and heavy looking bag hanging from her shoulders, she pulled out a vial of a strange greenish yellow liquid.

Van’s first instinct was to draw away, to wrap Dilandau protectively in his wings and not let him out until he was better, but thankfully, logic prevailed.  The madoushi needed the dragonslayer alive and amicable if they wanted to survive.  It was in her best interests to do everything she could for the captain.

“I pulled this out of Strategos Folken’s files on the boy.”  She explained, causing Van to bristle slightly at either of them being referred to as a boy, but his pride had to take a back seat, at least for the moment, if he wanted help.  “He needs to drink all of this.  It will help replace nutrients lost and bolster his system until it can begin functioning at proper levels.  But he needs rest.  He hasn’t eaten or slept properly in colours judging by your reports and has had his Fate Particles drained far too many times than is healthy.”  Though her tone was mildly accusing, she didn’t meet Van’s eyes at all.

Grudgingly, the king took the vial from her and popped the cork, sniffing it and grimacing.  The smell was sharp and reeked of chemicals.  It also hissed softly as it hit the air.  This was absolutely not something he would willingly give Dilandau and the look on his face must have said as much.

“It’s perfectly safe for him to ingest, though I wouldn’t recommend trying it yourself.  The Strategos designed it specifically for Su-Captain Albatou.”  Geesha quickly corrected herself, noticing the slip just in time and earning herself a sharp glare from the king.  “My debt to him would be ill served in poisoning him.  Now if you will excuse me, there are injured to attend to.  If there are any problems, call for me and I will come.”  Bowing her head respectfully, she straightened up, her hand reaching out to catch the edge of a cloak that wasn’t there as she spun around to deal with the rest of the injured.

The courtyard, which only an hour ago had been practically deserted was now packed with the injured, those caring for them, and those who were doing their best to quickly unload equipment to be rushed down to the harbour for the unfortunate people trapped down there.  Van didn’t want to even think about what that are must look like, having received the brunt of the early morning attack.  Casualties were high as the harbour had been bustling with activity at the time of the bombings, but the worst was the navy itself.  Reports were scattered, but from the sounds of it, Astoria’s mighty fleet had been annihilated.  A few random survivors had found their way to shore, owing their lives to pure dumb luck and the grace of Jeture, but the vast majority were now feeding the sharks which had been drawn to the harbour.

It was a nightmare, but better than it could have been.  Basram had intended to obliterate Palas in their cowardly attack, to shatter the alliance before war could even be declared.  There would have been no one to tell the tale and no doubt, blame would have fallen once more on Zaibach.  It would have been the death knell for the beleaguered country and no doubt Basram had some plan in motion to take full advantage of it.

Swallowing his nausea at the thought of so much rampant inhumanity, Van took a deep breath and carefully gave Dilandau a little shake, wanting him awake enough to drink the disgusting contents of the vial. 

The sight of those ruby red eyes never ceased to make his breath catch in his throat.  It was impossible now to remember how once, the sight of them had caused nothing but soul shattering rage and disgust.  Now… now they were home, and just as his own must, they shone with trust and welcome as they focussed on him.

“Van?”  Dilandau murmured softly, sounding more than a little confused.  Shifting a little, he tried to look around, but the king held him still, distracting him by running fingers gently through the feathers of his wings, earning himself a soft sigh of pleasure.

“Hush, you’re alright.  The battle’s over.”  He murmured.  “You did amazingly.”  That earned him a soft snort of contempt.

“Of course I did.”  The dragonslayers eyes began to drift closed once more.  Giving him a little shake earned Van a dark glare or reproach, but he smiled in response, hardly bothered.  He’d weathered far worse in their relationship.

“I need you to stay awake enough to drink this.”  Van held up the vial so that Dilandau could see it.  “Any idea what this is?  The sorcerer said that Folken made these for you.”  He almost didn’t get to finish the explanation before Dilandau snatched the vial from his hands and drank it with not only no hesitation, but with evident eagerness.

Only when the last drop was gone did the pale youth sigh softly, the tension leaving is body.

“I take it that that was a good thing?”  Van deftly plucked the now empty vial from Dilandau’s hand and placed a light kiss on the pale forehead, noticing that his skin was still cooler than normal, though not as bad as it had been.

“Yeah… Folken’s energy drinks… only thing that bastard did right…”  Dilandau murmured sleeply, shifting slightly so that he could burrow his head into Van’s chest, utterly oblivious to the crowds around them, many of whom were staring at the two draconians among them.  It was hard to ignore them, or their constant gossip.  A huge part of him resented the intrusion into his private life, but the larger part of him saw the inevitability of it all. 

Why wouldn’t they gossip?  Here was the king of Fanelia cuddling and caring for the dreaded Zaibach Warlord who’d burned Fanelia to ash, not to mention a good chunk of every other country he set his sights to.  The two were near legendary enemies over the course of the war.  Add in Dilandau’s mysterious notoriety within the nobility of the city and the fact that it was now very clear that neither of them was human, toss on top of that the fact that they’d just very obviously saved the city and it was enough to keep gossips giddy for years.  No doubt some idiot minstrel would make a ballad about it.

Suddenly, Dilandau’s eyes opened wide and he began to struggle, trying to look around even as the cloak did its best to keep him bundled up tightly in its warmth.

A sense of alertness and concern struggling to find root through dense mental fog filled Van, feelings that weren’t his own.  Something was wrong, out of place and it tugged at him, demanding his attention.  While the king knew that these were likely Dilandau’s emotions spilling over through their bond, it didn’t make him less wary.  Instead of fighting with the dragonslayer, he helped the other youth sit up, doing his best to loosen the cloak without costing him any of his hard-won warmth.

A group was coming out of one of the servant doors, dusty, tired and carrying a laden cloak between them.  Van recognized Rushah immediately and sat up straighter, instantly noting the grim look on the wolfkin’s face.  Behind him, holding up the other end of the cloak was Sibille.  Her lips pressed in a thin line and tension radiating from her body as she quickly glanced around the crowded courtyard, her eyes instantly finding theirs.  She gave the slightest of nods then glanced back at the figure on the cloak... the unmoving figure.

Dilandau was on his feet and moving before Van could even properly register what he was seeing.  The exhausted youth stumbling as his legs fought against him, prompting the king to grab onto his arm and help prop him up.  Laying back down wasn’t going to be an option for either of them, and Van was just as worried about the health of his dear friend as Dilandau was.

He barely even recognized Princess Eries stumbling along with the group, carrying onto part of a cloak bearing another man.  There was nothing of her previously regal self in what Van saw stumbling along with the bedraggled knights.  Her hair was dull and tangled, pulled back in a messy knot.  Her long skirts had been roughly torn away, revealing dirty scraped legs and her hands were bloody and filthy from digging through the dirt. 

It was her face which was the hardest to recognize.  Gone was the distant and regal emptiness of her face, the eyes which hid her emotions perfectly, leaving her as emotional as a statue in the gardens.  Now, it was pinched with pain, her eyes glassy with shock and grief.  Her entire world had been shattered in front of her, and she was still struggling to come to terms with this new reality. 

Seeing their princess alive and walking bolstered several of the guards, causing them to rusk to her side, each one badgering her with questions.  She didn’t react to them, barely hearing them at all.  Thankfully, the two Knights Caeli with her snapped at them, ordering them back so they could have room.

They looked ready to do the same as Van and Dilandau approached, but their eyes widened at the sight of the two winged youths, even though they looked far from regal, propping each other up and their wings dragging in the dirt.  Still, Van was a king, and he met their eyes with a cool glare, just daring them to try to send him away.

“Allen!”  Dilandau yelled out at the sight of the broken body of his brother.  Stumbling away from Van, he fell to his knees next to the unconscious knight, his eyes wide with horror.  “No!!  You’re not allowed to die!  Don’t you dare die on me!”  Staring at that too still face, he willed there to be a sign of life.  The barest flicker of an eyelid, the twitch of a nostril, anything.

Reaching out a trembling hand to touch his brother, he froze in mid motion, unable to bring himself to bridge that barrier, terrified of what he might find. 

“Don’t leave me…”  His voice was little more than a whisper, but it tugged at Van’s heart as he strode over and gently helped Dilandau to his feet.  “Don’t you dare leave me Allen!  You promised you wouldn’t leave me again!”  That all too familiar hysterical edge of madness was creeping back into his voice and the king pulled him back into his arms, stroking those shaking wings gently, hoping to calm him.

“He’s not dead Dilandau… just hurt.  We have the tools to save him.  He’ll be alright.”  It wasn’t the truth and both knew it.  They could see the damage done to the knight.  The crushed bones, the darkening of his skin and the paleness of his face.  Allen was hanging on by a thread, and the slightest mistake could cost him everything.

“We can heal him!”  Dilandau grinned at Van, his eyes too wide, his grin too unhinged.  “Join with me!  We can heal them like on the ship!”  He could feel the dragonslayer reaching through their bond, trying to bind their power together, not even acknowledging that neither of them had anything left inside them to give.

“Stop it!”  Van yelled at his lover, giving him a sharp shake, hoping to snap him out of this spiral before it truly started.  “We don’t have the energy.  It would kill us, AND him!”  he added, fully aware that Dilandau would stupidly risk his life without a thought if it meant defeating death and protecting a loved one.

“I’M NOT GOING TO LET HIM DIE!”  Dilandau screamed back defiantly.  How someone who didn’t even have the strength to stand on their own power still had the energy to shriek like an enraged banshee was beyond Van, but he continued to hold tightly onto his lover, fully aware that he might try something stupid.

“He won’t die if you let us get him onto the damn ship.”  Sibille growled out, her voice sharp enough to cut through Dilandau’s hysteria.  “Now back the fuck off and stop being a drama queen or else I’ll tell the blond bimbo that you were crying over his worthless carcass.”  Rushah stayed wisely silent.  He knew better than to poke an enraged wyvern.  This one especially.  “It’s bad enough I’ve had to carry his lazy ass for the past half hour.  I’m not dealing with you on top of it all.”  She continued as the two began to head towards the leviship with their precious cargo, fully aware that they were a priority.  If there was even a sliver of a chance of saving Allen, they were going to seize it.

Naturally, Dilandau followed on their heels snarling at the empty air around him, ordering the always watching specters that they were not to allow Allen to cross onto the paths of the dead.  That if they saw him, they were to keep him at the gates or else he’d find a fate worse than death for them all.

Van moved to join him, knowing that this sudden burst of energy was going to be horribly short lived, and Dilandau was going to crash hard in a few moments, but a hand on his arm gave him pause.  Looking down, he saw bloody fingers covered in dirt, the nails torn and ragged from rough labour on tender skin.

Following the arm, he looked up and saw Princess Eries standing behind him, having passed off her corner of the cloak to a guard, allowing her to receive reports and sort out the chaos around them, at least as much as she was able.

Even as she stared at him, her eyes blinked several times, trying to correct her vision, as if not quite believing that she was seeing him.  It was likely the wings.  Everyone had that reaction and knowing in theory that he wasn’t human wasn’t quite the same as seeing him standing there with them spread out for all to see.

“Van?”  She asked, her voice roughened by all the dust she’d breathed in.   He knew the look in her eyes, that utter devastation, the silent screaming in the depths of that emptiness which warned of having witnessed terrible losses.  There was no point in asking about the king.  He already knew enough.

“Princess Millerna and Heir Dryden are alive and well.”  He told her instead, sparking hope in her and causing her to nearly sink down to the ground in relief.  The only thing which kept her up was her sheer and formidable stubborn will.  “Dilandau’s recruits saved them.”  He couldn’t help but add, knowing that they would most likely fall under almost immediate suspicion due to the notoriety of their leader.  “I took the liberty of summoning a ship from the Fortress and bringing down anyone with medical training to help with the injured.  We’re going to be taking the most desperate cases, as well as the Royals up to the fortress for protection.” 

There was no point in attempting to phrase it like a request.  They’d lost too many already to risk any others needlessly.

“This was an act of war by Basram and we have no idea how many agents they have, but they clearly knew the royal escape routes.”  That statement drew a look of shock from her and gasps of outrage from the two knights who flanked her, seeming to have also passed off their burden in order to remain at the princess’ side.

One of the Knights Caeli opened his mouth to protest but Van cut him off with a sharp swipe of his hand and an angry glare.

“They attacked the palace and obliterated the harbour.”  He snapped, not giving the man a chance to speak.  “We’re sending supplies and personnel down to help but the fleet is gone.  They never got a chance to even get off the ground.”  Turning away from the knight, he focussed his attention on Eries.  “They dropped an energist bomb.”  He stated coldly.  “Basram meant to end this war before it even started.”

“…I see.”  Her reply was simple, but Van could see that behind her eyes, she was frantically sorting through all her information regarding the situation.  “And where is it now?”

“Dilandau and I sent it to the space between worlds.”  That drew in several startled gasps, though Van had no idea why.  Everyone could still see the damn light in the sky burning merrily away up above them.

“Find me the ambassadors for our allies.”  Eries ordered, her voice low and controlled as always, though those who knew her could hear the trembling edge of rage within its serene depths.  “I wish for the world to know of this attack, and more importantly, know that we are still alive.”  Several guards immediately raced off to see that her will be done.  Turning to those who remained, she continued to issue orders.  “I also wish for the High Council to convene within the hour.  We will do so in the Alseides hangar, it seems to have escaped unscathed and at this moment, I do not trust the palace.  If Heir Dryden and Princess Millerna are unable to be moved, we shall hold it in the ship around their beds.  This is a national emergency and the injured cannot wait for a more convenient time.  If our councillors wish to be heard, they had best be here post haste.”  More guards raced off to locate the correct nobles.  None dared to question why a princess was giving orders or why they were obeying.  Her authority was absolute.

Finally, she turned to Van and gave her head a slight bow, acknowledging his royal lineage, still managing to stick to protocol amidst the chaos.

“King Fanel, I know that you are most eager to return to your country after all of the hardships you’ve endured, but I would beseech you to remain for a time.  Our country is vulnerable and most of our Knights Caeli lost or missing.  We have need of Escaflowne as well as your counsel.”

Had he been anyone other than Van Fanel, this would have been the perfect time to drive a hard bargain and put his country into a more advantageous position for the coming winter, or even just politically.  However, these were his friends, his allies, and more importantly, they were people who’d just suffered a terrible tragedy.  There was no way he could turn away from them or make demands.  Instead, he simply nodded his head.

“Fanelia will do all that it can for our allies.  I will remain here and aid in your defense.”  Dilandau could mock him later for being a pushover, but in his heart, he knew that this was the only choice he could make.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The emergencies aren't over as everyone continues to fight for their lives and those they care for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it took me a while to post this. Had a few rewrites, several false starts and got distracted more than a few times. But hey! Chapter two! It always annoys me in a lot of shows and anime how the main characters always seem to make it through with barely a scratch from horrible battles. Or perhaps a few scratches, some tousled hair and some light bruising. Not here my friends. Our cast is bruised, battered and really not having a good time of it. Sometimes, the hardest part isn't the battle itself, it's surviving the aftermath.

               Dilandau did his best to focus on the figure laying there on the cot and not the blinking and beeping machines surrounding him.  It was easier said than done considering the fact that the damn things were everywhere.  Ripped straight out of a nightmare and placed around him, threatening to cut off any escape.  Only… this time it wasn’t him on the table screaming and begging for the pain to stop.  It was Schezar… Allen… his brother.  His brother who should be staring down at him with that familiar look of utter exasperation warring with frustrated anger and awkward affection.    He should be lecturing Dilandau about how stupid that last stunt with the bomb had been, how he shouldn’t have taken off into combat in an untested Alseides or half a dozen other things.  Instead, he lay there on the cot, unmoving.  His body broken and torn, his lungs only rising and falling because of a tube shoved down his throat and a machine beeping loudly, telling his heart to keep beating.

Nausea rose up sharply, threatening to pull the contents of his stomach out through his mouth, forcing him to clamp a hand over his mouth and back away, shaking violently.  He’d been there on that table, his life entirely at the mercy of unfeeling machines and it was wrong!  So horribly wrong.  Why did it always come back to the madoushi?  Why did it always end up with someone on that damn table, their body opened up by knives and needles?

A strong hand rested on his shoulder, the touch warm, familiar and promising protection in a world of pain.  Groaning softly, Dilandau spun around and buried his face in Van’s chest, not caring that it made him look weak or cowardly.  He hated medical rooms, hated the madoushi who filled them and he hated that damn table!!

Arms wrapped around him, wings cut him off from the nightmarish world he’d so brazenly strode into.

“Shhh, we’re in this together.”  Van murmured softly.  “I won’t leave you alone.  No one is going to touch you.  I promise you that.”  All around them, Geetha and Regis bustled about, ordering around servants who’d volunteered to help, demanding pressure be placed in one spot, pulse taken in another.  There was the sound of a knife cutting flesh.  Deceptively soft but so horrifyingly familiar to Dilandau that he clung to Van tightly enough to bruise the king’s skin.

“We don’t have to be here.”  Van whispered, giving his lover a gentle squeeze of encouragement, doing his best to hide the pain the other was causing him with that too tight grip.  “We can leave anytime.”

“NO!”  Dilandau snarled, fury rising to battle against his terror.  “I won’t abandon one of my men!”  His grip tightened to the point that it threatened to crush bones.  “I won’t let him die!” 

Bolstered by his words, he pushed away from Van and faced the table once more, focusing on Allen’s face with an intensity that bordered on fanaticism.  It helped block out the sights and sounds around him as he studied the vicious bruises on the once handsome face.

Tentatively, he reached out a hand to touch the harsh swelling that marred the once smooth skin, sealing one eye shut, and leaving several nasty looking gashes across his cheeks.

“Heh… we have matching scars now.”  He stated, his voice soft and gentle, his fingers stopping just short of touching the fragile skin, as if contact would make it all real.  “We can make it a Schezar fashion statement, though I’ll always be prettier.” 

Several of the volunteers paused from where they were working and glanced at the dragonslayer, unsure if they should be worried regarding this odd conversation.  He was still an unknown factor to the court of Astoria and its people.  A feral dog in their midst, but they seemed to take their cues from Van who still looked calm.

“His blood pressure is dropping.”  Regis snapped, noting the warning beeps of the monitor he was tending.  “We’re going to lose him!”  Geetha was at his side in an instant, swearing softly as she adjusted the machines around the knight.

Pale gold lashes fluttered slightly for a moment as Allen struggled to hold onto life.  To Van’s shock, Dilandau shrugged off his piloting leathers and thrust out his bare arm towards the woman.

“He needs blood.”  The dragonslayer snarled, sounding as if he were challenging her to a death duel.  “Take mine!”  The limb trembled and the skin was almost sickly pale with terror, but he refused to pull back.  That familiar look of utterly insane stubbornness filled his eyes and Van couldn’t help but smile in admiration.

“Touching, but pointless.”  Geetha muttered, not even looking up as she fought to impose her will over death itself.  “You’re not species compatible.”  Her cold words made the dragonslayer flinch slightly, but his arm remained stuck out in the air as he refused to back down. 

Regis paused in his work to glance at the confrontation taking place over the patient’s body and swallowed nervously.

“You’re not human, your body is so full of chemicals alien to his system that it would kill him, AND you’re dancing on the edge of organ failure yourself.  Neither of you would survive a blood transfusion.  I could go on, but I have a patient to save, so step back and let me do my work.  Regis, get some more blood out of storage.”

“It will take too long to warm it to body temperature.”  Dilandau snapped, refusing to back down.  “And you’ll still have to separate the preservatives in it.  He’ll be dead by then!”

“He’ll be dead even faster if you don’t step back and let me work!”  Geetha returned verbal fire, more concerned for the well being of her patient than dealing with arrogant warlords.

The look of thwarted rage on Dilandau’s face should have warned Van that he was about to do something monumentally stupid, but the king had had a long day and it wasn’t even noon.  It was hardly his fault that he was somewhat distracted.

The sound of tearing muscles and breaking bones made everyone around the bed freeze and stare in horror as Dilandau hunched over in agony, grunting softly as he struggled to keep from crying out as his body reformed itself beneath his skin.

Muscles flowed like water beneath flesh that darkened to a warm creamy peach, growing more slender, unmarred by the scars and callouses which spoke of the years of abuse and violence Dilandau had endured.   Shoulder length hair shimmered, growing wavy and shifting to a burnished pale blonde while his toned abdomen seemed to cave in on itself even as breasts swelled beneath straining skin.

His wings crumbled away, fading like a gust of ash in a gentle wind, vanishing from sight, leaving behind a smooth back, save for a single scar down her shoulder blade.

Through it all, the extended arm never lowered, and everyone found themselves staring at azure blue eyes which shone with as much challenge as crimson one’s had mere moments ago.

“Then take mine.”  Celena growled.  Her voice left no room for argument or compromise.  “Allen is my brother, my only family and I will NOT sit back idly and watch him die.  Either take my blood and give it to him or I’ll do it my damn self.” 

No one dared to argue with her.  For a moment, there was nothing but silence, broken by the shrill beeping warnings of the machines, then Geetha sighed and nodded her head in defeat.

“Get on the cot and make yourself comfortable.”  She ordered, motioning for the little portable stretcher to be brought over.  “You’re going to be here for a while.”  Regis dutifully set it down and quickly tossed a clean sheet over it, doing his best not to stare at the sudden shifting of vicious warlord to slender and somewhat unnerving young noblewoman.  Moments later, a shirt was also produced.  While it was far too big and much lacier than anything Dilandau would tolerate, it promised some base level of modesty.

Celena sneered at the blouse in disgust, her alter ego no doubt mocking the garment ruthlessly, that is, if he was even still conscious after his latest bout of stupidity.  At least Celena was able to swallow her pride and put it on, though as far as Van was concerned, the damage was pretty much done.

“So much for subtlety.”  He murmured, taking her hand and helping her to the bed.  Unsurprisingly, she shot him a vicious glare and snatched her hand out of his, hopping up onto the bed herself and laying down.  “Anyone could have seen you.”

“Oh please.  Regis isn’t interested in my chest, and Geetha has seen every bit of me, inside and out.”  She couldn’t quite resist shooting the sorcerer a dark look.  “As for the rest, people have more important things on their mind right now than my tits. and who’s going to believe them?  Stop being paranoid, you’re starting to sound like Allen.” 

He supposed she had a point, but he had one as well and be damned if he was going to let either of them get away with this stunt.

“You could have been killed doing that.”  He snapped, even as he grabbed a spare sheet and rolled it up into a pillow for her.  “Neither of you had any idea if this would work or kill you.”

“We both agreed that it was worth the risk.”  The look in her eyes warned him not to argue with her on this.   “He’s our brother Van.”  She continued in a slightly gentler voice which might have fooled lesser men, but Van knew that the woman he was speaking to was every bit the ruthless tactician Dilandau was.  “We’d do the same for you or for the children.”  Turning away from him, she looked instead at the still form of her brother laying next to her.  Reaching out her hand, she gently took hold of his and gave it a gentle squeeze.  “We won’t lose another member of our family.”  Her voice softened further, growing deeper with the weight of love and duty.  “You’re all worth any risk.” 

For a moment, Van was moved beyond words.  Since regaining her sense of self, there had always been something untouchable about Celena, a broken sense of viciousness from the nightmare existence she’d been thrust into since childhood.  He’d never have thought she’d be capable of this depth of emotion for another, let alone for the brother she’d often accused of abandoning her.  Gods of Gaea, she’d said hello by breaking the man’s nose!

Trust the Schezars to never do anything simply or without drama.  It had to be the family motto or something, because none of them were above wallowing in it.  Still, while he was furious at the risk they’d both taken so casually, he was also deeply grateful that there was still enough humanity in Celena to make this sacrifice.

Sitting down on the other side of her, he took her free hand in his and gave it a squeeze, smiling down at her.

“Thank you.”  He said, letting those two words say everything he couldn’t give voice to.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”  She replied, turning her head away in an attempt to hide the fact that her cheeks coloured slightly.  Despite her harsh tone, she didn’t pull her hand back.  “Dilandau’s the soppy one.” 

Knowing better than to argue, Van instead kept his mouth shut and focused instead on not bristling in protective rage as Regis stepped forward, needle in hand.  It brought back far too many memories for his comfort, though he had to admit that it was clever of them to use Regis rather than have the sorcerer herself do it.  That likely would have been a bit too much.

Smiling apologetically, the zaibachi teen wiped her inner arm with a wet cloth which reeked of chemicals, adding to the king’s obvious discomfort.  It was hard to tell who the smile was for, but neither teen cared at this moment.  They were too busy fighting their own nightmares which threatened to well up.

“This is going to sting.”  He warned, to which Celena snorted inelegantly.

“Try growing a cock in twenty seconds and then tell me what pain feels like.”  Well that certainly broke the rising tension in the room and Van tried not to snicker when the other teen nearly dropped the needle in shock.  Looking pleased with herself, Celena gave a contented sigh and leaned back on her makeshift pillow, flashing Van a playful wink.

“You are not quite what I expected, Celena Schezar.”  Regis murmured softly as he quickly checked for a vein then inserted the needle under the skin with a smooth efficiency which warned that this wasn’t his first bloodletting.

“She sort of has that effect on everybody.”  Though Van chuckled as he said it, he was in no way relaxed.  His eyes kept staying to the needle in her arm and the thick crimson blood flowing along the tube and into Allen’s body.  It made his skin crawl to watch it, but he couldn’t turn away.

“Is Allen going to be alright?”  She asked, ignoring his discomfort and focussing instead on Regis, her eyes narrowing slightly, all but daring him to try to lie to her.  Thankfully, Regis was smarter than that.

“I can’t make any guarantees.”  He warned her.  “There’s some serious internal damage, but I believe he’ll pull through.  He’s a tough guy under all that lace and hair.”  The last bit was said with a hint of a smile, the apprentice sorcerer attempting a little levity in the face of overwhelming darkness.

“I’ll make the guarantee.”  Millerna strode into the room, pale lavender eyes flashing in challenge, daring anyone of them to try to remove her from the room.  Her normally long blonde hair had been pulled back and bound under a surgical cap, showing the bruises and reddened skin of her face, not to mention the rather nasty cut on her brow which had already been stitched up.  Her ruined dress had been replaced with a surgical gown, but Van could see the thick bandages covering her arms, protecting her burns as they healed.

“Princess Millerna….”  Regis glanced over at his master, seeking support in ordering the royal back to her own bed, but Geetha was focussed on sterilizing the skin of Allen’s abdomen where the worst of the bruising was.

“Don’t bother trying to tell me what I should and should not be doing.”  She all but growled at the redhead.  “He was hurt saving my sister’s life and I will NOT sit back doing nothing while his life hangs in the balance!”

“But you’re also hurt!”  The zaibachi youth protested.  “You should be laying down!”  The glare he got in response not only shut him up but made his already pale skin suddenly rival Dilandau’s normal complexion.

“I am Queen of this country.”  She replied in a cool voice which left no room for argument.  Even Van had to admit that he was more than a little impressed at the authority behind her words.  “He is one of my Knights Caeli and a dear friend.  You also need every medically trained set of hands which can be spared.  I will not begin my reign by lounging on a bed while those precious to me die.”

“Let her work.”  Celena spoke up, her eyes staring unabashedly at the princess, bright with curiosity despite her own stress and exhaustion.  “As the eldest conscious Schezar, I have the authority to decide who does what to my brother while he’s incapacitated.  She saved his life once, let her do it again.”

Millerna visibly started in surprise and stared at Celena with wide eyes, only now realizing who it was, no doubt having first mistaken her for Dilandau.

“You can’t imagine how pissed off Dilandau was when he learned through our spies that you’d saved Schezar’s life.”  Celena grinned up at the princess from where she continued to lay on the bed, looking pleased as anything at having shocked the royal.  “He hadn’t figured that you’d have the skills, let alone the stomach to heal him, and the thought of your impending failure sort of soothed his rage at having Miguel captured.”  The smile faded for a moment in memory of the love lost before it had truly been realized, as well as the pain and madness which had followed.

“It’s fitting that the two of us will now work to save it a second time.”  She shrugged slightly, “Dilandau certainly won’t apologize for Freid during the war, so I’ll let our actions do it for him.  He can grumble at me later.”

“Do you know what you’re doing?”  Geetha spoke up from where she worked, scalpel poised over Allen’s stomach.  “We’re not talking about primitive Astorian leeches.  I use Zaibach technologies and knowledge.”

“I’ve read _Anatomy and Energy_ more times than can be easily counted, as well as _The Art of Life, Hidden Anatomy_ and countless others.  I also trained under Lord Hassard Vigar whenever he was at the palace.  I have spearheaded the use of Zaibach tools in medicine since the war and have performed several surgeries using them.  I assure you Lord Geetha that I will keep my leeches in the cupboard.”  The sorcerer, for her part didn’t seem to catch the slight barb thrown at her.  All that mattered to her was the patient and anything that would help.

“Hmph, you’ll do.  Take these forceps and gauze pads.  Regis, I need more light, and keep an eye on his blood pressure.  We can’t allow it to drop.  The man’s bleeding internally faster than we can replace it.  If we don’t stop it, then we might as well unhook the girl and at least spare one life.”

 

What followed next was a tense two hours as the two women fought to save Allen’s life.  Unable to do anything, and feeling more than a little useless, Van stayed at Celena’s side, holding her hand and carefully giving cups of juice for her to drink in order to replenish the blood she was losing.  It wasn’t long before she drifted into a half sleep, her body, likely almost as strained as Dilandau’s had been pushing its limits for far too long and needed to conserve what little energy she had left.

As her temperature dropped, Regis piled several blankets on her shivering form and obsessively monitored the two sibling’s vitals, taking heart in how Allen’s began to stabilize after the long and grueling battle.

The smell of blood was thick in the room and Van shuddered, his stomach roiling as he tried not to look at the misshapen lump which lay beneath a blanket on a tray against the wall.  It was Allen’s leg, the one which had been crushed by the rocks.  His other was still salvageable, though it was bound to several pieces of metal, holding it still so that the bones could heal straight.  Not that it mattered.  He would never fight, let alone walk again.

_At least he’s alive_.  Van thought to himself.  That had to count for something.  Still, it left a bad taste in his mouth and was infuriating that they’d come so far, sacrificed so much.  This was a kick in the face for an undeserving man and it was so unfair that it made the king want to scream.

“A prosthetic.”  Millerna murmured, staring down at the truncated stump which had once been a long and strong leg.  The unfamiliar word caught Van’s attention, but Celena opened her eyes, suddenly alert.

“YES!”  She blurted out, a wide grin on her face.  Struggling to sit up, Van gently placed a hand on her shoulder, keeping her laying down.  That earned him a murderous glare, but thankfully, she didn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

“Stay laying down.”  He ordered, earning himself an even darker look.  “Your blood pressure is too low to sit up and you know it.  If you pass out, I’m having Regis disconnect you.”  The king then looked at the two women who were staring at the mangled stump with thoughtful speculation.

“The one Lord Folken had couldn’t have been unique.”  Millerna continued.  “Surely you had other soldiers who required them.”

“We have them.”  Geetha’s voice was cautious, weighing her every word as if she might damn herself with her own admissions.  “But they would require a neural link and I can’t do that alone.  It takes at least four madoushi to perform the surgery as well as tools only found within the empire itself… well, found before our fall.” She amended quickly, fully aware that such technology could easily be considered a violation of the armistice agreement.

Catching the pause and evasion, Millarna fixed the older woman with a cool stare.

“Minutes prior to the attack, Lord Dilandau elicited an agreement from my husband, granting amnesty for the sorcerers working under his command.”  This was obviously news to Geetha as her eyes widened and she spun around to stare at Celena who simply smirked.

“Don’t look at me.  You know how crazy he is.”

“Contact the other sorcerers you need.  I know that you have ways of reaching them.”  The princess stated.  “Bring them here, as well as what tools you need.  Save my knight and I will see that you are all given the protections promised, but you will be answerable for their conduct.  Step out of line, act in any way which is unethical or inhumane and I will ensure that you pay for every crime tenfold.”  She meant this with every fiber of her being.  It echoed in her words and blazed in her eyes, but both Geetha and Regis nodded their heads.

“Dilandau isn’t going to be happy with this.”  Van murmured to Celena.  It was bad enough with one sorcerer and a sneaky apprentice.  The idea of more made his blood run cold.  He didn’t even want to imagine what the captain’s response was going to be.

“He can deal.”  She replied with every bit of stubborn will as her counterpart.  “He knew it was going to take more than the sacrifice of a little blood to save Schezar.”

“How long will it be before they can be here?”  Millerna asked, ignoring the banter taking place off to the side.  This time it was Regis who spoke up.

“Three days.”  He sounded confident with the time, making Van believe that it could likely be managed in two and the other youth was simply being conservative with his estimate.  “I can get in touch with people and have them on a ship for Palas before sunset.”  He paused for a moment.  “I know the timing is terrible, but Heir…er… King Dryden will have to draw up a decree of amnesty for the madoushi in question.  The instant they land, my father will denounce them as criminals and Emperor Vashinel will demand they be returned to Zaibach to face charges and execution.  The Allied Kingdoms will back this claim.”

“Not all of them.”  Van growled softly.  “And Freid will refuse as well once Duke Chid learns that it’s Allen’s life they’re saving.”  Chid owed them dammit, and his hero worship of Allen likely was still as strong as ever.  There was no way he’d back the other allied nations in an act that would cost his idol his life.

“That will be three against three then.”  The princess warned.  No one bothered to mention that Basram was no longer an ally in their minds.

“Four against three.”  Celena stated flatly.  “Atlantis played as much a part in the war as anyone else.  It was their power being manipulated, and in the end, it was their power as much as anyone else’s that stopped the war.  We have the last two draconians here, and they both have quite the vested interest in this.”  She smiled then, the look was utterly malicious.  “Dilandau agrees.  He says that if they refuse to acknowledge the voice of Atlantis, then he’s sure having a floating fortress and two angry fate altering draconians hanging over their capital city would sway them to see reason.”  At this point, Van wasn’t even the least bit surprised by this, but it was still rather new to the princess.  Rather than backing down, she flashed Celeana a cool glare.

“I will not threaten our allies.”  Lavender eyes met blue, neither woman giving ground.

“Who said anything about threatening them?”  Celena asked, her voice suddenly all sweetness and light.  “I’m sure they will come to that conclusion well enough on their own once they connect the dots.”  How she pulled off a statement like that while looking so pure and innocent was not only baffling, but rather terrifying as well.  He prayed that Dilandau never mastered that art or Gaea was doomed.

Still recovering from the previous threat against allied countries, Millerna studied Celena closely, weighing the woman standing in front of her against the empty doll of a girl who she’d known since the war.  Physically, they looked the same, at least until you saw her face.

Where Celena had once always worn a vacuous smile, taking childish delight in a world she had no hope of understanding given her stunted mental state, this Celena’s mouth was set in a hard line.  Her every expression was carefully guarded and there was an ancient look to her eyes.  The weight of her shared life as Dilandau’s shadow weighed heavily on her, but not nearly as much as her own recent cruel experiences.   

 “You’re not quite what I expected.”  Millerna finally said, her eyes softening.  “But I like it.  I’m glad that you’ve found your strength.”

“We’re all going to need to be strong for what’s coming.”

“Yes, I agree.”  The princess nodded her head sadly.  “But I hope that I get a chance to get to know you better.  I consider you to be one of my closest friends.”  Celena snorted inelegantly at that, her eyes narrowing, as if daring the princess to continue to believe this foolish dream.

“I’m not the same girl you knew.  She was empty, nothing more than a doll with no mind or life of her own.”  There was so much not being said in those words, they overflowed with pain and frustration.  “But I’m awake now, and while I might not want to live in this world, to exist in this weak body, I’m not going to run away anymore.  Not when there’s things to be done, or people relying on me.” 

Looking over at Allen’s too still form and his ghastly pale skin, she gave his hand another gentle squeeze.

“I ran away before and made Dilandau shoulder the burden alone.  I didn’t care how much it hurt him, so long as he saved me… and he did.  Over and over he did, even when he was wanting nothing more than to die, his soul bleeding from hundreds of wounds.  He still stood there for me, pushing us forward. 

“I was so envious at first, of the life he’d lived, the adventures he’d had and the love his men had had for him…  I’d never seen someone so alive or strong, but the more I watched, the more I learned, I began to realize that he needed me just as much as I needed him.”   She smiled at Allen, her eyes distant and sad for a moment as a faint smile teased at her lips.  “Allen doesn’t have anyone like that, so we’ll be strong for him too.”

“The host and subject shouldn’t have contact with each other.”  Geetha spoke up from where she was cleaning her tools, her voice surprisingly cool and firm.  “It increases mental degradation and renders the subject unstable.  Your memories should show you what happens when there is an overlap.  Do you truly wish to risk it?” 

“I didn’t ask you.”  Celena all but spat viciously.  “Did it ever occur to you monsters that if our minds weren’t constantly tearing each other apart that we might have been stronger?  Saner?  Of course it didn’t.  You want your black and white little world.  Zaibach doesn’t tolerate useless things, and I was considered to be useless, so you did everything in your power to kill me off in his mind and soul.  Even if it meant torturing him the instant he showed the slightest bit of humanity, you felt it was justified.”

Geetha’s hand reached up, cupping the necklace she wore around her neck, holding the heavy pendant tightly for a long moment.  The coldness vanished from her eyes and she shook her head from side to side.

“Not all of us.” She murmured softly.  “The most humane of us can also be the most monstrous given the right circumstances.  The softest emotions can often hide knives, and they can turn on you…. Viciously when you least expect it.  Dilandau knows this, as do you.”

“Heal my brother, make him walk again, and you won’t have to find out just how monstrous I can be.”  Celena replied, the very real threat heavy in her voice.

There really wasn’t much that could be said after that and a somewhat tense silence followed as Millerna and Geetha did what they could to ensure that Allen was not only stable, but comfortable.  It was going to be a long three days and they were going to be working hard to ensure that he was healthy enough to survive the attachment of the prosthetic.

“I didn’t know you felt that way.”  Van finally ventured after the silence had dragged on for far too long, giving Celena’s hand a gentle squeeze.  For a moment, she looked confused over his statement, then she chuckled softly.

“You just saw me as a victim, a broken thing.”  Her voice was soft, but it didn’t waver at all as she pulled her gaze away from Allen’s face to look at Van.  “Don’t try to apologize, it’s alright.  Everyone saw me as that, even myself.”  Taking a deep cleansing breath, she smiled and looked over at the needle piercing her slender arm, the vein looking bright blue beneath the pallor of her skin.  “For a long time I was.  Only now, everyone around me is suffering and hurting so much,  but they still keep going.  They still struggle to become better people, stronger people.  What does that say about me if I just tuck myself away in the back of Dilandau’s mind?”

“Celena, you went through terrible things.”  Van murmured, uncomfortable with the sudden heart to heart with a woman who quite frankly sort of terrified him, but she was a part of the man he loved, a vital part of the man he’d sworn himself to, and he wasn’t going to deny it, especially when she so obviously needed someone to talk to.  “No one expects you to put yourself in danger.”

“But I should expect you to?  I should expect Dilandau to?”  She sneered at him, but her ire was aimed at herself rather than him.  “After what I’ve been through?  He endured far far worse and is still moving forward, still taking risks with his life and heart.  It won him a second chance.  It earned him you.”  There was no point in hiding the shock on his face at her revelation, it was too complete and left him staring at her, his jaw agape.

A gentle hand rested on Celena’s shoulder and she looked up to see Millerna smiling down at her warmly.

“You know, you might not be the girl I once knew, but I think I could grow to like the woman you’ve become a great deal.”  Now it was Celena’s turn to be stunned.

“…have you met me?  I’m a walking disaster!”

“Some would say that regarding your other half as well, but I find him to be a rather fascinating individual.”  Millerna replied simply.  “Don’t you agree Van?”  The smile she shot him was filled with impish mischief and what exactly the sort of expression he’d expect to see on Merle rather than an astorian princess.

Once again, the king was caught at a loss for words and in his desperation, he glanced over at Regis who offered him a rather apologetic smile shrug.  He wasn’t going to get into it, proving that at least one male in the room had some common sense.

“Does Allen know about the two of you?”  Millerna pressed, not quite ready to give up on a juicy bit of gossip.  Van wasn’t even going to ask how she’d figured it out in the short amount of time she’d seen them together.  The question remained, did she think it was Celena he was in love with?  Or Dilandau?

“He’s given us his permission to court.”  The young king replied after a moment, hoping to lure her out a little and see just how much she knew.  “He’s not thrilled, but there isn’t much he can do about it.  We’re in love, and we’re not about to let anyone stand in our way.  We have too much to lose if we do.”

Celena rolled her eyes at his words but didn’t argue the point.  Millerna, for her part was thoughtfully silent, likely pondering her own love life and the sacrifices she’d made.  Van could remember her running around after Allen during the early part of the war.  Lost in her infatuation and fighting constantly in that subtle way women had, with Hitomi over him.

“I’m glad.”  She finally stated after a long moment as she put her surgical tools away.  “You should never surrender the fight for love.  But… what about Hitomi?  I had thought the two of you…”  Her voice trailed off as she realized that there was no delicate way to word having one’s heart shattered.

“We’re from different worlds.”  He replied gently.  “She has her life, and she’s living it well.  She’s found someone, a husband who she loves.”

“Oh….”  Millerna chewed her lower lip slightly.  “Er… could you give her my congratulations?  You… you still talk to her correct?”

“Not as much as I should… I need to tell her what’s happening, and let her know we’re going to survive.  Also, she needs to know about Allen.”

“I don’t see why.”  Celena grumbled, rolling her eyes.  “She was the one who left everyone for her boring old world.  She said she loved you, then left you… least she could have done was slept with you or something first.”

“Shut up Celena.”  The playful smirk on her lips helped mitigate the sting of her barb, but Van still couldn’t quite keep from making his opinion known.  Really, he could understand Dilandau’s grudge against her, but not Celenas.  It seemed that it was yet one other little mystery he was going to have to get used to, but for once, he was getting the feeling that he’d finally have the chance to do so.  It was a good feeling, and he held onto it tightly in his heart.

 

 

A soft groan made with a familiar voice woke Van out of the light doze he was in.  Instantly, the king lunged forward, grabbing onto the pale hand resting on the sheets of the bed.  Despite the callouses created by endless hours of ruthless sword work, he could still feel the fragile and too smooth skin which was the result of burns.  It made those fingers feel heartbreakingly fragile and Van couldn’t help but shudder slightly even as he raised them to his lips, kissing heat reddened knuckles tenderly. 

It was a chilling reminder of just how close they’d come to losing everything and he still couldn’t quite shake the image of Dilandau screaming in pain, holding tightly to that searing bomb even as it cooked his body from the energy release.  The fact that he only had a few light burns was more than a miracle, especially since Van could vividly remember the smell of burning flesh.

Despite the medicinal ointment Mora had given him to rub on the burns, the skin still felt too cool, prompting him to pull the blankets up a little higher around the slumbering body of his husband, the title still causing him to blush slightly.  It created an odd contrast to how his stomach clenched, tight with stress over the last few tension filled hours and how close they’d come to losing everything.

“You really do love him don’t you.”  Merle spoke softly from the doorway, making him wonder just how long she’d been standing there silently.  Judging by the way she was just casually leaning against it, her tail curling idly around her ankles, at least a few minutes longer than was proper.

The sight of her made him wince and guilt joined the menagerie of unpleasant feelings twisting up his guts.  He hadn’t come to see her yet.  Between the fight for Allen’s life, keeping him and Celena stable, then being talked into letting that damn sorcerer hook Dilandau up to her hellish machines on the solemn promise that it would speed his healing and give him back a great deal of the energy he’d been draining himself of regularly, he’d utterly forgotten about his best friend.

Though she’d fared better than most, she’d in no way escaped the nightmare unscathed.  Several patches of fur had been burned away and there were thick bandages around her upper arm and her midsection.  Some spots of crimson could be seen leaking through the latter, but seeing as how she was up and moving, he wasn’t going to panic.

Dried blood matted her fur in several places despite her best efforts to clean herself and a bandage was wrapped around her head, covering her eyes.  That was the worst part by far, the worry that she’d been blinded by the explosion.

As if sensing that he was staring at her with pity in his eyes, her ears twitched, then flattened against her skull and her tail lashed back and forth aggressively.

“It’s temporary.”  She stated, challenge evident in her voice, so strong that it almost covered up her fear… almost.  Van knew her far too well to not hear it.  “The sorcerer lady gave me some drops and said that I can’t handle any light right now, but that they’ll heal.  I should see just fine in a day or two.”

“I’m glad.”  The words couldn’t even begin to convey the relief that filled him when she said that.  He should have been there for her, protected her or something!  He hated feeling so helpless!

“It’s not your fault.”  It seemed that he wasn’t the only one who knew the other well, and she smirked beneath her bandages.  “Stop blaming yourself.  We saw what you did.  All of us were watching from the walls cheering you on.  Hmph, never thought I’d cheer on that psychopathic pyro, but I sort of did… just don’t you dare tell him that.”  She warned quickly.  “You saved a lot of people… actually, from what I’ve heard, you saved all of us in the end.  So don’t you go worrying about a few bumps and bruises that I might have picked up.”  Her smirk turned into a wide grin.  “Don’t know if you heard, but I’m a hero.”

Despite her lack of sight, she struck a pose, legs shoulder width apart, hands on her hips and tail proudly standing up behind her.

“I dragged the princess to safety AND fought an assassin!”  Despite how horrified he was at this, Van couldn’t help but smile in pride.

“I’d heard.  You were amazing Merle, really amazing.”

“Damn right I was!  No more trailing along like a scared and lost kitten.  I fought in a battle!  I won!”  He could see something dark pass over her face and her ears flattened slightly for a moment as her enthusiasm leeched out of her.  Slowly, with care, she edged towards the bed, tracing her fingertips along the wall of the small room to guide her.  Once she reached him, she crouched down and curled up against him the way she used to when she was a little kitten and scared of the dark.

Just as he had back then, he reached out a hand and gently began to rub her ears, earning himself a soft sigh of contentment.

“…Lord Van?”  Her voice was so soft and unsure.  Beneath his hand, he could feel her tremble slightly.

“Yes?”

“Does it ever get easier?”

“Does what?  Battle?”

“Killing… I killed a man…I felt him die… I took a life.”  She shuddered, choking back a soft sob as she leaned against him a little more.  “Does it get easier?”

For a second, Van’s fingers froze.  Before the war, he hadn’t killed anyone either.  Just a few animals for food and the dragon for his right to be king.  Human lives were precious, never to be taken lightly. 

The dying echoes of young men his age… some even younger filled his mind.  He heard them through the memories he’d shared with Dilandau from that terrible day, familiar precious voices screaming over the coms, crying out in terror, begging their leader to protect them, not understanding the death carving through their ranks.  That coupled with the sounds of his sword slicing through steel hulls to reach the soft flesh within was almost too much from him and he closed his eyes tightly, doing his best to silence the even worse memory of his fierce joy, the wild bloodlust which had awoken inside him, turning him into a true demon.

“You don’t want it to get easier.”  He finally replied.  “Never let a life be taken lightly by your hand.  Learn the names of those you kill, learn who they were so you never forget that they were a living person.  The instant you forget that…you become a monster.”  His fingers began to lightly stroke those silken ears again, granting her the comfort his words denied her.  “This is war Merle, if you’re going to fight in it, you’re going to kill.  I wish I could keep you safe from it… but I’m also so proud of you for standing up and protecting those who can’t.  Fight, kill if you must, but never do it unless there is no other option.  It shouldn’t ever be your first choice of action.”

Balgus had once tried to explain this to him, but he’d just been an arrogant kid, spoon fed tales of battle and valour, of heroes and villains and happy endings.  Well, to be fair, Balgus had made it a point to ensure he knew that not all endings were happy and that the hero didn’t always walk away at the end with the maiden fair.  Sometimes, he didn’t walk away at all.

They’d still been nothing but fanciful stories until that dark day when Folken had gone out to kill the dragon, and never returned.  Despite that shadow, he’d continued to cling to them desperately as any other naïve child, until the Dragonslayers had come calling.  They’d torn his illusions apart with fire and crima claws, carving a path of death and carnage across his innocence, but it hadn’t been until the energist mines that he’d killed.  Even then, it had been an accident. 

The man had tripped and fallen, his head cracking open like a ripe melon when it had hit that exposed rock.  Van had never forgotten that look of utter shock on the bastards smug and sneering face, as if he couldn’t believe that he’d been defeated in such a lackluster manner.

After him had been his guards, then the workers at the mine when the energist had gone unstable and exploded… though he really didn’t count that as his fault.  How was he supposed to know it could do that?  No one had ever dared to gather so much of the rare stones together in one place.

Blooded now, the lives had fallen to his blade with growing ease.  It was a war after all, at least that was his reasoning.  They were Zaibach, they were the enemy and without honour.  Their lives hadn’t mattered… not until that terrible night on the storm blasted plateau in Freid.

He’d understood the lessons of Balgus then, but it had nearly been too late.  He’d stood upon the edge of the abyss and almost lost himself to the darkness beyond.  It was only Hitomi and Merle who’d saved him, and now it seemed, it was his turn to repay the favour.

“We fight to save lives, not to end them.”  He continued.  “So long as you only draw your sword to protect and defend, so long as you fight with honour, you will never become a monster.  It won’t be easy, but it’s the best path.”

For a long time, they both sat there silently, not a sound to be heard beyond their breathing and the bustling sound of footsteps in the hallway beyond the door.

“Is he going to be alright?  Allen I mean.”  Merle finally asked, still sounding so young and vulnerable.  Van wanted to lie to her, to spare her the pain of this new and darker reality, but it wasn’t fair.  She deserved to know the truth, and in trying to protect her, he’d be leaving her ill equipped to fight in the coming war.

“I don’t know.” 

“I overheard Princess Millerna talking to Dryden.  “She said he’d nearly died… that he’d lost his leg.”  Rather than speaking, he simply nodded his head, confident that she’d feel the movement.  “Are they really allowing those evil sorcerers to come and help him?”  There was an uneasy edge to her voice and her grip on him tightened.

“After what they did to you, and the whole war thing…and Celena… how could Princess Millerna trust them?”

“They’re his best hope.”  Van finally admitted, still rubbing her ears gently, glad that she was finally starting to relax a little.  “They have the knowledge to help him walk again.  Without them… Allen will be crippled.”  Once they’re done, it will be just like as if he had his leg back.”  It was hard to tell if he was trying to convince her, or himself, but he did his best to sound confident.

“I don’t trust them.’

“Neither do I, but I trust that they’ll act in their best self interest.”  That earned him what he figured would have been a skeptical look judging by the way her ear twitched and her tail gave a few sharp lashes back and forth.  Her mouth twisted up in a slight smirk and she couldn’t quite resist giving a somewhat tired chuckle.

“You’ve changed, you know that right?”  Her tail gave another flick, lightly bumping his leg.  “You never would have compromised before all of this.  Not with Zaibach.”

“The world isn’t going to stop changing just because we want it to.”  Even he sounded tired as he said this, the weight of his adventures weighing heavily on him.  As he said this, he reached up and gently brushed his fingers against Dilandau’s, smiling slightly as they closed around his.  There wasn’t any strength in the grip, but the king made no effort to pull away.

“We need to grow and change with it, or else we haven’t learned anything.  Right now, Zaibach stands to be just as much a victim as the rest of us and has every right to fight for the betterment of Gaea as we do.  Whether they choose to do so or not isn’t my problem.  The people I care about will do what’s right. 

“Basram has chosen to be our enemy now and they made that choice out of greed and pure evil intent.  Dilandau and the people in that floating fortress made their choice to stand by me.  He’s paid for that choice several times, but each time he continues to make it.  He’s my family, they all are, and if they believe that Allen can be healed with sorcerer magic, I trust them.”

“You really love him, don’t you.”  It wasn’t so much asked as stated with a heavy grumbling sigh, her tail giving another sharp twitch.  Unable to help himself, Van smiled down at her and chuckled, then looked over at his sleeping lover.

“Yeah, I really do.  There’s so much more to him than I ever though.”

“He’s still an evil asshole.”

“More amoral than evil.”  Van mused slightly, though even he had to admit that that was splitting the hair rather thinly.  While Dilandau usually had reasons… no matter how obscure and convoluted behind his actions, he still much preferred taking paths which would lead to strife for those who opposed him.

“You didn’t deny that he’s an asshole.”  Merle smirked, unable to keep from snickering slightly.

“What’s the point?  He’d prove me wrong the instant he opened his mouth.”

“Are you really married?  He said you were… that you had kids too… I’m not stupid, I know he’s lying on that one.  But the rest?”  He’d been dreading that question, but again found that he couldn’t deny her the truth no matter how uncomfortable it might be.  Out of all of the people on Gaea, she was owed it the most from him.

“Yes… we’re married.”  He admitted softly, giving that pale hand a gentle squeeze.  “We hadn’t intended it at first.  It was an accident.  Things were hitting him really hard just before we were kidnapped.  He was learning about all of the horrible things in his past and believe me, it was bad.  Bad enough to explain why he acts the way he does.  Not that that’s an excuse mind you.”  He quickly put in before Merle could reply in kind.  “It just helps me understand the why behind it all.”

Looking over at Dilandau, he admired how perfectly sweet and innocent he looked while he slept.  Too exhausted for his usual nightmares, his face had a look of peace.  The sort so often denied to him in his waking hours.  Gods of Gaea, he truly was beautiful, and Van couldn’t help but smile warmly at him.

“I gave him one of my feathers… still not sure why, but it felt right.  I swore to him that I would stay with him and help him through this mess, that we could create a new life, a new destiny together. 

“I didn’t think he’d take it, the look on his face… he likely thought it was some sort of joke or attack, but… I can’t explain it Merle, he just looked so lost.  Everything had been stripped away from him, he couldn’t even trust his own thoughts or memories anymore… but he still reached out and took my feather, then he gave me one of his and took me up on my challenge.  We only found out later that that’s pretty much how Atlanteans perform their marriage vows.” 

Taking his hand away from her ears, he reached down and held up the shimmering black feather hanging from his neck, admiring the play of light across its surface.

“They’re more than just empty words for us.”  He continued, his voice soft and reverent.  “They formed a bond between us.  We didn’t notice it at first, but it grew the more time we spent with each other in those hellish cells.  We kept each other alive and sane Merle.  He …he endured a living nightmare, doing his best to deflect attention away from me.  I don’t think he’ll ever let me know everything he endured, and I don’t’ think I’ll ever be brave enough to ask, but the bond deepened.  We started sharing dreams, memories… we’ve lived each other’s lives Merle, the best and the worst.  I’m as much a part of him now as he is me and it’s weird, but I can honestly say that I’ve never been happier.”

The cat girl was silent for a long moment, pondering his words thoughtfully, her tail gently swishing back and forth as she tilted her head to face the figure laying on the bed despite the fact that she couldn’t’ see.

“Does he love you back?”

“Yes.”  There was no doubt in Van’s voice.  “He might not say the words, but he show’s me over and over again that he does, and I can feel it through the bond we share.”

“What does Blondie have to say about that?”  Van gave the hand another squeeze and chuckled softly, remembering the look of outrage followed by weary resignation on the knight’s face.

“He’s ordered me to court him properly, like he was some Astorian Lady.  It’s not easy.  I don’t know anything about astorian courting customs, but I’m pretty sure they’re annoying and elaborate and that Dilandau will have as little patience for them as I do.”

“Hmph, maybe that’s the idea.  Psycho pretty boy will punch you in the face and never speak to you again if you bring him flowers.”  Merle chuckled, clearly enjoying that mental image.  There was no point in arguing that, she was likely right.  “What about Hitomi?  Does she know?”

“Yes, she does.  I told her myself.”  He replied primly, proud of himself for taking that huge step.  It had also been the first time he’d admitted his feelings for his lover in public and the look of shock on Dilandau’s face had been exquisite… as had been how he’d thanked him later that night.  “She wasn’t thrilled… sort of the opposite, but she wished us the best… there might have been some threats involved if he ever broke my heart.”

Merle snorted at that.

“I bet.”  More thoughtful silence followed before she spoke again.  “Your council is going to murder you, you know that right?  Prince Consort?  He told me that was his title now… at least it would be once you announced it to the court at Fanelia.”

“He said that!?”  Van couldn’t keep the delight from his voice.  He hadn’t been sure if Dilandau would accept such a title from a country he claimed was filled with uncouth barbarians.  He’d certainly carried on as if it was little more than an insult.

“That’s not what you were supposed to take away from that comment you know.”  Merle grumbled.  “Politically, you just jumped into a lake filled with hungry shark kin.  They’re going to eat you alive.”

“We’ll find a way.”  Despite sounding confident, he knew it was going to be a terrible and drawn out political battle to have his husband accepted.  Gender aside, Dilandau was by far the most reviled man in Fanelia for his cruel and cowardly sneak attack during the coronation ceremony.  His court wouldn’t care that it had been on the orders of Folken and Emperor Dornkirk.  Those two were dead and gone.  Dilandau was still very much alive to face their rather justifiable wrath.

“You never make anything easy on yourself Lord Van.”  Merle murmured softly.  “But I won’t make things more difficult for you.  I don’t like him, I don’t trust him… but you love him.  I can’t lie to myself about that, and so long as he loves you back I’ll do everything I can to support you.  But.”  She added menacingly.  “The instant he hurts you, I’m carving out those ugly eyes of his and using them as a toy.”

Van doubted that she was bluffing, and a sufficiently motivated Merle was a truly terrifying sight, so he wouldn’t even put that act as wholly beyond her ability.  Rather than trying to deter her in any way, knowing that it was a lost cause, he resumed rubbing her ears and smiled down at her.

“Thanks.  You have no idea how much that means to me.”

 

Gaddes wiped the sweat from his brow with an arm crusted in ash.  It did nothing to help, in fact, it only left a huge black smear across his already filthy skin, not that he, or anyone else noticed.  Everyone was covered in soot, creating a uniformly grey tone to the once festive looking city and people.  The only colour which seemed to shatter the monochromatic palette was the bright crimson of blood. 

He’d seen so much of it in the past few hours that if he never saw the colour again, it would be far too soon.  War might have inured him to the pain and suffering of soldiers but it had done nothing to harden his heart to the sight of the suffering of innocents. 

Children wailed next to the shattered and burned bodies of their parents who’d put themselves in harm’s way to protect them.  They didn’t understand… couldn’t understand what had happened here or why their parents weren’t getting up.  One child sat there on a piece of rubble, blood streaming down the side of his face from a cut on his brow, staring vacantly into space.  His wide blue eyes were empty of pain, of fear… of any sort of emotion as his mind struggled to comprehend what had happened. 

A soot stained adult picked him up and whisked him away before Gaddes could see if the kid was alright and he couldn’t help but wonder if the adult even knew the kid or was going to get him the help he so obviously needed.  He himself was simply too busy to stop them from leaving and could only hope that Jeture watched out for the child… and the hundreds of others like him.

“Sarge!  We need more buckets at the shipwright’s!  The fire is spreading across the rooftops!”  Ort called from across the street where he was leading a bucket brigade consisting of locals, guards and several of the nobles Gaddes had brought.    

Normally, the sergeant would have taken some level of petty delight in seeing the spoiled and arrogant nobles just as covered in dirt and grime as he was, but really, that was the least of things taking up his attention.

Looking up from where he was holding up a still smoldering beam with the help of two other men so that another could carefully pull an old woman out from beneath it, Gaddes swore under his breath.  He could easily see the cherry red glow of the spreading fire on the rooftops despite the thick and oppressive smoke which had choked the harbour for the past few hours.

Dammit, couldn’t they catch a break?

“Katz!”  He yelled, doing his best not to choke as he inadvertently breathed in a rather impressive amount of ash. 

The aforementioned man looked up from where he was helping bind the wounds of two kids who couldn’t have been more then ten.  There was no sign of their parents.

“Sort of busy here Sarge!”  Was the sharp reply.  Manners had been burned away about three hours ago… not that the crew suffered from an abundance of them in the first place.  Gaddes decided to let it slide, this was no place for a pissing contest and really, they were all busy.

“The fire is spreading!  Head down two blocks north and see if they can spare anyone to help bring more water up!  If it gets into the residential areas, we’re going to start getting a lot more dead and wounded!”  To the man’s credit, he seemed to understand the situation and with a quick nod of his head, tied off the bandages on the one little girl’s arm and called for a nearby guard to help with what Gaddes assumed was her brother.

Without any further argument or delay, he was off like a shot, leaping over debris and deftly weaving around other bucket brigades until he was out of sight. With luck, he would only be a few minutes.

The sudden and rather ominous groaning of the building behind him warned Gaddes that he might not have a few minutes left.  It sounded like the structure had endured too much abuse and was finally giving way to the inevitable.  One of the guards grabbed the newly freed old woman while Gaddes lunged forward and grabbed the kids, one under each arm and hauled ass as quickly as he could.

Both children screamed, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the shock of being grabbed or the horrific roar of the building coming down almost on top of them.

Keeping his legs under him was almost impossible as the ground began to shake and he could feel chunks of stone and plaster pelt his back as one of the walls gave way, sending another huge black plume of ash and dust into the air, making the already unbreathable air even worse.

The sound of the building collapsing was a deafening roar and with every beat of his heart, he expected to feel the terrible crush of deadly weight throw him to the ground.  Nothing mattered but running as quickly as he could and for the first time in his life, he was deeply grateful for all those sadistic races around the garden the Brat had forced them to perform.  Had this happened three colours ago, he’d likely not had the speed or stamina to outrun death.  Even now, he could feel the sharp bites of stone chunks tearing at his legs, but he grit his teeth and leaped over a pile of rubble.  Skidding on a loose stone, he nearly lost his balance as well as his precious cargo.

Catching himself before he fell, he spun around and stared with wide eyes at the ruins which had once housed several repair shops and a small laundry.  Only one wall remained standing, the rest had crumbled in on themselves, the debris spreading out nearly a hundred feet on either side.  Shutters had been torn from the windows of nearby buildings and many people clutched at each other fearfully, worried that more buildings might share this one’s fate. 

From where he stood across the street with the bucket brigade, Ort stared at the settling mess, his jaw hanging open wide.

“Holeee shit.”  Blinking several times, he looked over at Gaddess.  “I didn’t know you could run that fast.”

“Neither did I.”  He replied, still staring at the rubble which could have easily been his grave.  The children standing beside him were silent, likely too shell shocked to even fully comprehend what had just happened.

“You’re bleeding Sarge.”  Teo walked over, giving him a quick once over and frowning slightly. 

“I ain’t got time to bleed.”  All things considered, it sounded pretty damn macho in his head, and he liked to think that he looked rather badass, standing there, sweaty, bloody and filthy with the dust clouds rising up behind him.  “Ort!  That building ain’t gonna put itself out!  Get that bucket brigade moving!”

“Sir, Yes Sir!”  It was good to see that this tragedy hadn’t broken the spirits of the crew.  Ort even snapped him a salute before barking some orders at the nearby bucketeers, dispatching several of them to other burning buildings even as he picked up his own full buckets and passed them down the line to where they were most needed.

Making a move to head to another area that needed his help, a surprisingly strong hand caught his arm.  Turning slightly, Gaddes looked into Teo’s concerned face.

“You might not have time to bleed, but at least let me take some of the chunks of rock out of your arm.”  Those warm brown eyes were full of concern and it looked like Teo had aged a few years in a morning.  He motioned to Gaddes’ arm and upon closer inspection, he could see a few good sized chunks of rubble embedded in his skin.  With his adrenaline running so high, he hadn’t even noticed.  “There’s a few in your back too, but this one worried me the most.  You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t take it out and let me bandage it.”

Long familiar with that tone of voice, the sergeant nodded his head then looked down at the two crying children.

“We need to get them to one of the shelters I hear they have set up a few blocks away where the buildings are more stable.”  He said, focussing on them in order to ignore the rather agonizing tug of the ship’s medic ripping the suddenly massive feeling chunk of rock from his tricep.  Gritting his teeth to keep from crying out, he swore loudly.

“I’ll get them passed off to someone who’s heading there.” Teo assured him smoothly, pouring some salt water over the wound and ignoring how Gaddes no longer tried to restrain his vulgarity laced yell of pain.  “We can’t spare you here.”

“Did.. did anyone make it out of the SeaDragon?”  The sergent asked through gritted teeth, rather sure he knew the answer, but still having to ask.  Rather than replying verbally, Teo simply shook his head and pulled out a length of cloth bandage from his medical bag.  There wasn’t too much left of it anymore.  He’d been helping the injured for hours and seeing as how he hadn’t offered to sew the wound up with a few rudimentary knots, he was likely out of thread already.  In fact, the bandages looked suspiciously like scavenged bedsheets from a laundry.  Distantly, some part of Gaddes’ mind wondered if it had been the laundry that was now buried beneath rubble.

“They’re sending the worst of the injured up to that floating fortress.”  The medic continued, his dark eyes glancing upwards for a moment, as if he could see the massive military base through the smoke.  “Never thought I’d be happy to have one of those damn things nearby.”  It was obvious that he wanted to hear what the story was behind it, but this wasn’t the time or place to gossip.

“Just be glad it’s on our side.”  He replied, his voice hitching slightly at the end when Teo tightened the bandage, stopping just short of cutting off the circulation in the arm.

“Oh I am Sarge, believe me.  Now watch the arm, it’s probably going to keep bleeding until you can get someone to stitch it closed but that should slow it down a little.  Try not to move it too much.”

“Can’t promise that.”  The way things were going, he would likely break every bit of advice Teo had to give within the next ten minutes.

“SARGE!”  Reeden and Pyle both came racing over the newly created pile of rubble, their eyes wide with horror, causing both Gaddes and Teo to brace themselves for whatever horrible news these two bore.  Whatever it was, it was bad enough that they’d felt the need to immediately race over to them to share it, heedless of the many scratches and burns they picked up along the way.  Even now, they both skidded down the newly settled hill of stone, causing several of the looser rocks to trail down after them in a mini avalanche of smoldering debris.

“Sarge!!! It’s the Boss!!”  Oh Jeture no.  He wasn’t up to this.  Motioning for the bucket brigade and nearby rescue crews to keep working, he walked over to the two crewmen, trying to project calm he didn’t feel.  The goal was to get them away from all the listening ears before hearing them spout out their no doubt terrible news, but his luck continued its current trend and they began speaking almost immediately.

“He was hurt bad!  Really bad!”

“The Knight’s Caeli are almost all wiped out!”

“He saved the princess!”  Oh Jetures balls.  This wasn’t what the people needed to hear right now!  Hells, it wasn’t what HE needed to hear right now!  Grabbing both men by the elbows, he dragged them away from the rescue efforts, shooting both of them glares of death in order to keep them quiet until they were out of earshot.

Tugging them around the corner of a stable building, he quickly glanced around to make sure no one was lurking nearby, or worse, was in immediate need of help.  Seeing that the coast was as clear as it was going to get, he motioned for them to continue.

Both men took deep breaths, ready to launch back into their panicked babbling, but Gaddes held up his hand, silencing them both, then pointing at Pyle.  He was the less high strung of the two and if Jeture was smiling upon them, might be able to deliver a cohesive report.

“We were working by the harbour, searching the downed ships for survivors when we heard some of the palace guards talking!”  He blurted out almost immediately, amazingly not even seeming to pause for breath.  “Shit really hit the fan at the palace after you left!”  Gaddes felt his stomach drop at those words and he spun around to look in the direction of the castle, not that he could see anything through the smoke and the buildings in the way.  The heavy feeling of having seriously failed his missions pressed down on him and made him feel sick to his stomach.

“There were assassins in the palace!”  Reeden burst in, unable to contain himself any longer.  “They blew it up and there were-”  Pyle cuffed him across the back of the head, silencing the smaller crewman. 

The world seemed to spin around wildly, making Gaddes fight to keep his feet under him.  No… the palace… that was impossible!

“They didn’t blow up the palace ya moron!  Not all of it!  Why you gotta say shit like that!  You’re upsetting the Sarge!”  Pyle practically yelled in his face before turning back to Gaddes who felt about ready to either faint dead away, or race to the scene of the crime with sword in hand ready to fight to the death for his country.

“We didn’t hear all of it Sarge, sorry.”  The larger man continued.  “But the guards said that assassins had attacked several places in the palace, going after the royals and such.”  Running thick fingers through his greasy hair, Pyle spit on the ground in contempt at such cowardly tactics.  “Sounds like our little kitten saved Millerna and the bookworm.”  He grinned widely at Gaddes, inviting him to share in their pride.  “Pushed her away from danger, then fought five assassins during a war horse stampede!”

“Yeah, but the others-”  Reeden began.

“SHADDUP!”  Pyle bellowed loud enough that the bucket brigade had to have heard them.  “Lots of people were hurt.  Little Merle got cut up pretty good.”  Suddenly the mood grew even darker and the two men looked distinctly uncomfortable.  “Heard she’s blind now…poor kitten.  They took her up into that fortress with the Royals to keep em safe… but the boss….”  Now neither man looked like they wanted to talk, as if saying the words would make whatever horror they’d heard of real.

“What happened to the Boss?”  He practically growled out the words, desperately wanting to throttle both men until they just spat it out.  “Where were the Knight’s Caeli in all this?”

“The guards said there was an explosion in the catacombs… bad one…they had to be dug out.”  Pyle began, stalling slightly in his discomfort and looking more uncomfortable beneath the increasingly murderous glare of his sergeant.

“The Boss was hurt.”  Reeden cut in again.  “Hurt bad by the sounds of it.”  His voice was now subdued sounding and Gaddes noticed the pale lines through the soot on his cheeks where tears had already fallen.  Shit!  Shitshitshitshit!

“They took him away into that zaibach leviship Van called down, one of them cloaked wizards was hovering over him looking all grim faced.”  Pyle went from looking distraught to looking furious in the blink of an eye.  “Why was one of them wizards there!?  After what those freaks did to poor little Celena, and hunting down the Brat?  Why would Van hand Allen over to them!?”

Both men looked to Gaddes for answers, but he honestly didn’t have any.  Everything he knew about Van had done a complete about face over the past few hours, and his head was still killing him, reminding him of that fact whenever he moved his jaw. 

Showing up suddenly on a floating fortress surrounded by zaibach soldiers and having a wolf clan honour guard was crazy enough, then claiming to be the Brat’s ally, not to mention his lover just sounded ludicrous.  None of that held a candle to the idea that he would sit back and let those disgusting sorcerers anywhere near another living being, let alone Allen.  They were the ones behind this whole mess!  For years they’d been the source of strife and misery for all of Gaea and they were expected to suddenly believe that those psychotic bastards were the good guys now!?

“We need to get him back!”  Gaddes growled, feeling the flames of purpose take hold.  “This ain’t right.  We need answers before things get turned even more upside down!”

“Yeah!  We’ll blast them outta the sky!  Zaibach bastards!”  Reeden pumped his fist into the air, a wild grin on his face.

“After we get the boss.”  Pyle amended.

“Yeah!  Blast them outta the sky AFTER we get the boss outta there!”

“HELL YEAH!”  Both men cheered their impending repeat of their first real strike against Zaibach and take off to go grab Ort from the bucket line.  Gaddes for his part made a beeline for where he’d last seen Teo bandaging up survivors.  If the boss was in such bad shape, they’d certainly need his help.

It naturally didn’t take long to find the medic.  He was crouched next to an elderly fisherman, splinting a broken arm and carefully wrapping his burns while giving him instructions on how to keep the wounds clean.  Judging by the shocked expression on the old man’s face, he likely wasn’t taking in much, but hey, at least he was alive.  That was more than a lot of people could say today.

Hearing his approach, Teo glanced up and gave him a grim smile.

“Hey, I saw Pyle and Reeden racing by like a pack of alseides had just uncloaked.  What happened?”

“The boss was badly hurt in the attack.  Word is that some sorcerers have him up on that damn floating fortress.”  Gaddes replied, unable to help glaring in the direction he’d last seen the ominously floating monstrosity.

“So… that’s good right?”  Teo asked, looking confused.  “I mean, Van runs that thing, right?  Rumour had it that it’s considered to be Fanelian soil.”  Now it was Gaddes’ turn to frown.  He’d expected Teo to leap into action, not ask questions.

“Didn’t you hear me?  There’s sorcerers on that thing!  The kind of monsters that fucked up little Celena!”

“I heard you.”  Teo released the man he was caring for, sending him away quickly, aware that this was likely going to require his full attention.  “I also heard our conversation not ten minutes ago when we were thanking that damn floating monstrosity for being there.”  He continued, his voice level and cool.  “I know what those monsters did, but if they’re on that fortress then Van must know about them, right?  Maybe he found one that wasn’t a psychotic monster.  Jeture knows, we could use their magic on our side for once, especially if Basram has a bunch working for them.”

For a long moment, Gaddes just stared at the medic, barely believing what he was hearing.  He should be joining them on racing off to rescue the boss, not debating sorcerer ethics!

“Besides, we can’t race off like we did in the war.”  Teo continued, carefully wrapping up his spare bandages and tucking them into his bag, preparing to go find someone else in need of medical aid.  “We’re needed here.  There’s nothing we can do up there but get in people’s way.”

“We could rescue our fucking leader!”  Gaddes snapped, his temper rising quickly as he realized that he was not only being questioned, but also being dismissed.  “The boss is our priority here!”

“No, he’s not.”  Teo countered, his dark eyes narrowing.  “The boss would tell you the same thing if he were here.  Our priority is to the people and right now they need our help.  If Allen is up there on that ship, then he’s likely getting the best medical care on the planet.  The technology on that thing is so far beyond what we have here that it might as well be magic.  We need to do our jobs down here.  You were sent down to the city with your unit to organize rescue efforts and protect the populace.  You’re doing a great job keeping everyone working smoothly with each other.  We need you here.”

“The boss needs us!”  Gaddes protested loudly, feeling a little too much like Reeden and Pyle right about now, all enthusiasm and not enough brains.  “Besides…”  He added after a moment.  “Van isn’t the same as we remember… he’s changed.”

“After what it sounds like he’s been through?  I wouldn’t doubt it.”  Teo remarked and turned away, ready to head out to find his next patient.  Pausing, he glanced over his shoulder at Gaddes.  “Do those changes have anything to do with what happened to your face?”

Almost of their own volition, Gaddes’s hands went up to feel his still tender jaw, all too aware of how horrible he looked, even with all the soot hiding his bruising.

“I’m guessing that he was the one to do that.  If it was Dilandau, he’d have used a knife.”  The medic continued, his voice calm and controlled, though his eyes had narrowed once more.  “Look Gaddes, I’m not an idiot and I know how to put two and two together to reach four.  I know you and the kid had something going on, and I know damn well at the boss didn’t know anything about it.  I’m guessing that Van figured it out and let you know what he thought about that.”

Gaddes couldn’t help but wince at the accusing look as well as the all too accurate words.  While he wasn’t completely on the mark, Teo had guessed close enough to the truth, and damn if Van hadn’t let him know what he’d thought of his behaviour…

“You need to choose which is more important to you Gaddes.  Your duty to Allen, or your duty to your country.  Both might need us right now, but only one of them will actually be helped by us.  I’m staying here.  People need my help and there’s nothing I can do up there that will make a lick of difference.”

What he said made a lot of sense, almost too much sense, but Gaddes couldn’t forget those screams which had torn through Dilandau’s throat during his nightmares, how he’d been thrust into full blown panic attacks at the very name of the madoushi who’d tortured him.  Those monsters had thought nothing of tearing apart a sweet innocent girl, let alone flat out butchering hundreds of children.  They’d been tortured, raped, murdered and likely far worse by those bastards, and now Allen was in their clutches.

Van might vouch for them, but they had no proof of that.  For all they knew, those bastards could have tricked him, or brainwashed him they way they had with Dilandau!

While the people of Astoria might need them desperately right now, he owed Allen everything, and there was no way that he was going to sit back when there was even the slightest chance that he could be in danger.  He might not agree with Teo’s decision, but he could respect it.

“We’ll be back.”  He promised Teo, who simply nodded, not looking at all surprised by his decision.  “We’ll bring more supplies with us.”  It wasn’t much, but it helped ease his guilty conscience as he turned away from the medic and the people he was caring for.

 

Commander Antoni glared out the huge bridge window at the chaos below, swearing softly to himself in zaibachi as he mentally tallied up the damages and what it meant for not only Palas, but the upcoming war.  This couldn’t have happened at a worse time.  Winter would pick off a decent chunk of the population, but disease would likely run rampant in the cheap emergency public housing they’d be forced to put up.  Shoved into tight quarters, with little food or adequate heat and hygiene would create a breeding ground for sickness.  Astoria could very well have lost the war before it even truly began.

To make matters worse, his people were now down there.  Inadequately armed and in too small numbers to do much in the way of protecting themselves.  Demoralized, wounded and looking for any enemy to strike at, it was an extremely dangerous situation for those of his countrymen who’d volunteered to go down to the ground and offer aid.  At best, he could expect to hear about verbal assaults, some bruising and some likely rather shaken nerves.  At worse… well, he’d seen what humanity could get up to when properly motivated and it made him clench his fists to think that he’d just sent his people into the dragon’s den. 

Even the strongest of them had barely begun to recover from their captivity at the hands of those damned pirates.  There was no way they could stand up to a mob physically and especially not psychologically.  While he understood King Van’s strategy of ingratiating themselves with the population, it didn’t make it any easier to bear, especially after seeing what a farce Freid had been.

Dammit, he had to stay positive!  Every zaibachi who’d gone down to the ground was accompanied by either a Freidian soldier or a wolfkin warrior.  That had to be enough to keep trouble at bay and remind these barbarians that while they had been enemies in the past, Zaibach was now extending their hands to aid the beleaguered city.  No… not zaibach… They belonged to King Van and Lord Dilandau now, having sworn their allegiance to the strange duo, for better or worse.  So far, he hadn’t been disappointed with the decision.

Thanks to the timely interventions of those two, they’d been saved from slavery, given weapons and had their pride in themselves returned.  They’d borne witness to miracles of fate and events that defied explanation more times than he personally cared to count, culminating in the disposal of a Basram bomb!  Only an idiot would fail to see the value in tying one’s fate to them.

Even now, the fires down below appeared to be mostly under control.  The damage had been kept to as much of a minimum as possible considering the situation and with luck and a lot of effort, Astoria would be able to rebuild.  Granted, it would be difficult, the problems compounded by the approaching winter and encroaching shadow of war, but in a way, it felt good to know that this country was now going to get a taste of what they had condemned Zaibach to.  At least the winters this far south were much milder than the harsh Zaibach tundra.   

“They fucked us good sir.”  Lieutenant Mala muttered softly as she stood at his side, her eyes taking in the same view as himself, mentally ticking off all the strategic points which had been hit.  “It’s like Basram used a damn checklist in this attack.”  She continued, keeping her voice low so it wouldn’t carry.  It was an unnecessary precaution seeing as more than half their bridge staff didn’t speak zaibachi, but it was a hard habit to get around.  “They didn’t miss a single naval ship and they even look like they targeted several of the storehouses.”

“Indeed.”  There really wasn’t much more he could say, especially on the bridge and surrounded by a wholly green crew.  They needed their leaders to appear cool, confident and wholly in control of the situation.  It didn’t matter that he was shaking in his boots at how close they’d come to being caught in another energist explosion.  He had to be the best of them.

Empty fate, he’d barely survived the last bomb blast and had been one of the lucky ones in that final, fateful battle.  Still, he was never getting the image out of his head of seeing the unsurpassed power of the three Demon Armies disintegrate like ash in the wind as they were consumed by that terrible light.  How the coms had gone silent in an instant, cutting off the screams of the dying and leaving them to watch in horror as their fleet of over a hundred strong had vanished into thin air.

Now, he had to stare out that window, watching the city burn beneath them while fighting to keep his breathing under control, glad that his uniform hid the sweat no doubt covering his body.  The wolf kin could likely smell his horror, but thank fate, they stayed silent on the matter, allowing him to continue the illusion.

“Initial estimates of civilian casualties are at two hundred and thirty-five.”  She continued, handing him several shadowgraphs of the damage.  “We are currently conducting an areal assessment of damages and coordinating with ground crews to locate any downed leviships which might bear survivors.  So far, we’ve found two merchant ships which sustained moderate damage and were forced down into the water.  Also, the naval ship Freya crashed just outside of the city.  Damage is heavy but there are signs of survivors.  I’ve dispatched our leviship to their location to bring the survivors aboard… with your permission.”

Glancing over at his lieutenant, Antoni raised an eyebrow in silent question.  His hand twitched in a few rapid motions.

: Keep them confined to the hangar.:  He signed at her.: I don’t trust Astorian soldiers wandering our halls.  Only bring the seriously injured to the med bay.:  Nodding her head, she gave him a grim smile, fully in agreement.

: And if I do find any wandering the halls?:

: Escort them back to the hangar and kindly remind them that we do have a dragon wandering about the ship.  That should give them pause.:

“Excellent, thank you sir.”  She replied out loud.  “I’ll begin clearing out one of the bays in preparation.”  Turning smartly on her heel, she was about to leave when another voice spoke up.

“Sirs,” It was one of the wolfkin who’d chosen to learn how to work on the bridge, showing a rather remarkable natural intuition towards the ship’s electrical and navigational systems. 

Antoni remembered her introducing herself a Rhean, one of the younger and somewhat shy members of the pack.  While it was somewhat galling to have a beast kin aboard his ship, let alone working on the bridge, the commander had rather quickly learned that these days, any help honestly offered was too precious to turn away.  Prejudices be damned, this ship wasn’t going to fly itself after all.

Nodding his head slightly in acknowledgement, he looked over in her direction, waiting for her to elaborate.  Pointed ears twitched as she studied the crystalline display in front of her, her large hands sliding across the matrix of the keyboard, trying to home in on the blip on the edge of their sensory reach.  “We have an incoming ship!”  She spoke a mix of Freidian and Basrami.  The latter being a language both officers were familiar with.

“Are they attempting radio contact?”  Antoni snapped out the question, instantly hyper alert and drawing the attention of everyone on the bridge.

“No sir, but I don’t think they’re in range yet.”  She sounded timid and unsure, making Antoni long for the days when he had a confident and competent crew.  _Patience_ , he chided himself gently.  Everyone was new at one point.  She’ll learn just like everyone else.  Still… it was rather inconvenient at this moment and they couldn’t afford to make guesses.

“They likely just have a scavenged system on board.”  Mala muttered, walking over to the edge of the command platform and looking down at the navigator’s screen.  “Its range will be shit and they probably don’t have anyone on board who knows how to boost the signal properly.”  _Lovely, a battle of amateurs_.  Thankfully, Antoni managed to keep that thought off of his face.

“Notify the gunners to ready defenses.”  The orders, though faithfully relayed over the ship’s comms,  caused everyone on the bridge to stiffen and turn to glance at their commander.  A sense of dread hung heavy over the bridge, but none dared to argue.  After seeing the damage Basram was willing to cause, no one was willing to take chances.  “Are we able to identify the ship’s origin?”

The former Commodore, and now Lieutenant Raj stepped over to the screen and studied the information appearing across it.  While he ignored the incomprehensible zaibachi scrawl, he studied the shape of the ship, recognizing the unique design almost immediately.  A thoughtful look crossed his face as he pondered the implications and the drama about to unfold.

“It’s the Crusade sir.  Astorian leviship belonging to the Knight Caeli, Lord Allen Schezar.”

“Lord Schezar is one of the patients in the med bay.”  Antoni sounded confused for half a second before realizing what was going on.  “Ugh, idiots.  Don’t fire on the incoming ship!”

“They are shifting to an attack vector.”  Raj warned, glancing over at the commander, interested in seeing how he reacted to the situation. 

“The Crusade isn’t an armed ship.  They are going to attempt to board us and reclaim their dear commander from our clutches.”  Antoni couldn’t quite keep from sounding exasperated at this.  Of all the emergencies currently being juggled, he really didn’t have the time to spare dealing with a would-be infiltration.  Most especially from heroes of the damn war.  If they got so much as a scratch, he’d never hear the end of it.

“Beta bay has some damage to it but it currently empty, we could open it and allow them to “board” there.”  Mala advised after a moment.  “It’s not near any sensitive areas but it on a more or less direct path to the med bay.  While we can’t allow them to take Lord Schezar, we could at least make them aware of how precarious the situation is.”

“Agreed.  Lieutenant, you have the bridge.  I will deal with this personally.”  Antoni spun on his heel, not even waiting for his order to be acknowledged before heading off the command platform.  He truly hoped that whatever the king and captain were doing, they returned quickly, because he doubted that these hotheaded idiots would listen to him, but be damned if he was going to let them do anything to harm his fortress or the people housed within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay Celena is back! Millerna is sassing Madoushi and showing everyone how a badass queen acts and Merle does some massive growing up! Let's hear it for the ladies! As for the rest, woot, Crusade crew! Full of the best, but not always the brightest of intentions! You gotta love them. 
> 
> Everyone converging in one spot above a burning city... whatever could go wrong!?!?
> 
> Please don't hate me for taking Allen's leg. I figured, there had to be a few really serious injuries here because a damn city blew up! There's got to be consequences and gravity to it all. It's a war after all.
> 
> Next Chapter! Ignorance is bliss.


	3. Beware the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of chaos, Merle learns that the only sensible decision has to come from a cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delays. Work has been crazy as we head into our busy season. I swear I miss most of my breaks during the day. sigh. On the plus side, I'm down to seeing the physiotherapist only once a month. YAY!!!  
> Hope you guys enjoy this chapter. There's a lot of character growth and self realization going on here as everyone takes a moment to realize what they've lost, what they could still lose and what the very act of hoping might cost them. Sounds dark and depressing, but there's still a few fun moments, and the wild crazy action is coming. I promise!

“I require your presence.”  Merle couldn’t quite help but stiffen at haring the harsh zaibachi accent colouring the astorian words.  It would take her a long time to get used to it… if she ever did.  Pulling her claws out of the pillow she’d inadvertently punctured, she made a show of fluffing it, pretending to be wholly unperturbed as she bought herself some time for her tail to regain its normal sleek shape rather than the bottlebrush it had become.

“I’m not your servant.”  Not bothering to face the intruder, she instead felt along the table for where the bundles of bandages had been left.  Silently counting them, she began to divide them up onto trays to take to the med bay proper.  “If you need me, you gotta ask nicely.  I don’t know you, but I can tell that I already don’t like you.” 

His startled huff made her smile slightly and she didn’t try to hide it.  Princess Millerna had told her that she was a guest here, her own personal assistant and that she didn’t have to answer to anyone she didn’t want to.

“In case you can’t see, I’m busy putting together medical trays for the healers.”  She continued, enjoying the sense of power filling her at having the ability to make this self-important man wait.  “If I don’t do this, it takes time away from those who are trying to save lives, so unless it’s more important than that, find someone else.”

“The Crusade is currently preparing to board the ship.”  The man replied after a moment.  His dry delivery caused her to almost miss what he said.  Even then, it took a few moments before she realized the potential gravity of the situation.  “They’re not answering our hails.”

“They think you stole Allen.”  She replied, feeling the bottom drop out of her stomach.  After all the time travelling with the knight and his crew, she’d come to the realization that if there was any true constant in life, it was that the crew of the Crusade would stand by their commander, and each other.  If there was a second constant in life, it was that without their leader, the crew were guaranteed to do something utterly stupid.

It was immediately clear as to why this man needed her.  There was no way any of the crewmen would listen to a zaibach officer, especially if he was telling them that their leader was safe.  No doubt they’d immediately picture all sorts of horrible things being done to him.  Sure, their fears were rather well founded give their history, but this was pretty crappy timing.

“Naturally, they will attempt to storm the fortress in search for him.”  The man stated and she could hear the soft creak of his leather uniform as he likely glanced over in the direction of the hangar they were going to be arriving in.

Remembering the utter chaos of the last boarding party to enter a floating fortress, Merle gave a slight shudder and stepped away from the trays.  Those idiots would get them all killed with their good intentions.

“Alright, take me to them.  I can’t find my way around your stupid fortress yet.”  Her tail gave an insolent flick as she drew her shoulders back, pretending that the motion didn’t pull at the stitches in her side.

A soft chuckle from the doorway made her bristle slightly, but she let it pass without threat.  It didn’t sound so much mocking as amused.  After a lifetime of being looked down on, she’d long ago learned to tell the difference.

“So, who the hell are you anyway?”  He smelled odd, as if the shadow of sickness had passed him by recently.  Beneath that though, she could smell soap, the leather of his uniform, sword oil, and something else she couldn’t quite place.  It figured, the people of Zaibach couldn’t even smell right.

  His way of speaking was too educated to make him a rank and file goon, as was the confidence in his voice.  When he spoke to her, there was the expectation that he’d be obeyed, but it lacked the condescension she usually heard when people spoke to beast-kin.  Wait… didn’t Zaibach hate beast-kin?  So why was this guy being polite at all?  Not that she was complaining, nope, not complaining at all.  It was about time that humans aside from Lord Van started treating her kind with a little respect.

“I’m Commander Antoni.”  He replied as she approached, not sounding at all put off by her bold attitude.  “I am in charge of this fortress and all within.”

“Hmph.”  She snorted, hardly impressed with the fancy title.  No wonder he needed her.  It was his head on the chopping block if the Crusade crew started breaking things.  “You don’t command King Van, or me.”

“No.”  He agreed without a fight, causing her ears to perk up in surprise.  “I serve King Van Fanel.  This is his fortress and we have all agreed to serve him and Captain Albatou.”  Oh, well that was interesting and unexpected.  It seems that the zaibach people COULD be taught some common sense.  Well… some of them.

“Why?” She couldn’t help but ask, her curiosity piqued.  “I mean, I can see why you’d follow Captain Crazy.  But King Van defeated your country.  Don’t you hate him or something?  You guys all seemed big on the whole revenge thing.”  She wanted to bite her tongue after saying that.  Regis hadn’t seemed at all upset with Van and had always been polite to her, even if he had the bad taste to get along with Sir Fluffytail.

“It is a long tale, best not told wandering through the hallways, but save to say, every person on this ship, be they zaibachi or freidian owe King Fanel and Captain Dilandau their lives and their freedom.  We do not forget our debts, nor do we resent them.  One life ended in the war, another new one has begun.  We do not intend to waste this new life or its potential.”

Freezing in mid-step, she couldn’t help but look in his direction, shocked by not only his words, but his attitude.  While the bandages over her eyes prevented her from physically seeing him, she got the sense of him standing tall and proud, meaning every word he’d just said.  It sounded very much like the vow a knight might take to their lord, and it sent a shiver up her spine.  This was definitely a story she wanted to hear.

“Why bring me?”  She asked after a moment of thought as they resumed their walk.  “Why not Princess Millerna?”  Truthfully, Van would have worked best, but she had a strong feeling that he wasn’t about to be pulled from Dilandau’s side for any reason, at least until Captain Crazypants woke up… and even then, the’d likely spend some time together being gross.  Honestly, she was sort of glad.  Not for the whole being gross with the psycho part, but because her Lord was exhausted both physically and mentally.  He needed rest, and he certainly wasn’t going to get it running around after the crew of the Crusade.

“The Princess is busy saving lives.”  The commander replied.  “You…”  He paused, as if considering his words.  “You felt right.”  Well, that sounded stupid.

“Most commanders have plans.  You sound like a plan sort of guy.”  She might have said more, but then she caught a whiff of something that made her fur stand on end and her legs to lock.  The sheer impossibility of the whole thing made her question what her nose was telling her, but there was no arguing with instinct, and right now, everything in her brain was screaming loudly, demanding that she run and hide.  Not that it would do any good.  It would hunt her down, trach her with her very fear and devour her.

Dragon!

It made no sense!  They belonged in the jungles of Fanelia, not on some clunky old floating fortress!  How did one even get inside?  WHY would one come inside?  Was it some Zaibach trap?  Was it a stowaway or some sorcerous experiment gone wrong?!  Whatever the reason, it was here, and it was alive.  She could smell the life in the scent.  It was young, and very agitated.

“He won’t hurt you.”  A girl’s voice spoke up off to the side, making her hiss in shock.  She hadn’t heard a door open, and the smell of dragon grew stronger around her, more intense… as if it was wafting off of her… along with the scent of … Lord Van?  What the heck?!

“Irma, I’d asked you and your brother to stay with Kamata and keep him calm.”  Commander Antoni chided her gently, though there were evident tones of frustration and worry in his voice.  “Things are about to become heated, and your fathers will kill me if anything happened to either of you.”

Fathers?  Plural?  Wait… Nononono.  Dammit, the psycho had mentioned children… but… but she thought he’d been lying to hurt her.  There was no way that two men could have actually had children, especially children as old as she was who reeked of dragons!

“Father also wouldn’t want me to sit back and allow others to fight my battles.”  The girl argued boldly, a slight hiss slurring her words, as if she was speaking through a mouthful of sharp teeth.  The scent of dragon grew stronger as she stepped forward.  Though she managed to keep from growling, Merle wished that she could unfluff her fur, but it didn’t seem to be happening anytime soon.  “This ship belongs to us as much as anyone else and we intend to defend it.”

“Defend it?”  That snapped Merle out of her rising dread and she found herself speaking up despite how much she still wanted to run away at top speed.  “From what?  The Crusade?”  She couldn’t sound anymore incredulous if she tried.  “They just want to see Allen and make sure he’s ok.  They’re just harmless idiots if you know how to talk to them.”  Perhaps that wasn’t what she should be saying to this strange duo.  Shouldn’t she be boasting about their fierce prowess?  Their ruthless strength?  Their brilliance in battle?  Alright, that last one was pushing it.

“The last time we thought someone was harmless, we nearly lost our fathers.”  A third voice joined them, this one speaking with a distinct fanelian cadence to his words.  She didn’t recognize the voice, but the sound of it helped set her at ease.

“Is no one watching the damn dragon?”  The commander grumbled irritably, and she could feel amusement radiating from the two newcomers.

“Kamata is fine so long as no one bothers him.  We gave him some jerky and Father’s old kilt to play with.  He’s calmed right down.”  The boy stated smugly.  “So, there’s no reason for either of us to languish in his hangar staring at a sleeping dragon when we could be doing something constructive.  I hear there’s a ship heading towards us with a rather upset crew.”

“I swear, you’re as bad as your fathers.”  The commander grumbled under his breath, too low for anyone save for a keen eared cat-kin to hear.  Oddly enough, the comment put her further at ease.  Troublemakers were always good in her books, and she could sympathise with the two youngsters.  Who would want to stay cooped up when interesting things were happening?

While this newcomer didn’t smell quite as strongly of dragon as the girl, it still surrounded him, speaking of constant proximity to the beast.  Way more than any sane person should ever be.  Beneath that, his own scent was rather intriguingly mixed with that of her beloved king and the crazy beast he claimed as a mate.

“Very well, but the two of you will stay back and leave the hangar immediately if there are any problems.”  Antoni growled sounding like he already knew that this was a bad idea, but also understood that he couldn’t afford to waste precious time arguing.  If these two really were the children of who she thought they were, it was likely a wise decision on the commander’s part.  She couldn’t picture either man bowing to authority, let alone their children doing so.  This whole mess was getting better and better!  At this rate, she’d start purring in delight!

The commander resumed his stalk down the hallway, fully expecting the ever-growing cluster of teenagers to join him.  It was easy enough to follow the sharp clicking sound of his armoured boots on the metal flooring, though two much lighter steps fell into pace on either side of her.

“Hi!  I’m Irma.”  The girl who smelled like a dragon said, her voice warm and friendly despite the slight lisp.  “This is my brother Ignis.”

“Hello.”  The youth replied with a soft voice, sounding somewhat shy compared to his sister’s bolder approach.  Unlike her, his words were clear and distinct, bearing the familiar drawl of her homeland.

“I can smell Dad on you.  Do you know each other?”  Irma prodded, sounding excited at the prospect of meeting one of her father’s companions.  “These men who are coming, they’re Dad’s friends too aren’t they?  They’ve come for Uncle Allen?”  Well, that pretty neatly confirmed that little mystery, though it did open up a whole slew of questions that Merle wasn’t sure she even wanted the answers to.  Trust her beloved king to achieve the impossible.  Pity he had to have such terrible taste though.  Still, their kids didn’t seem to be so bad… they clearly took after her Lord Van.

“I’m rather sure this is Merle.”  Ignis gently interrupted his sister’s onslaught of questions, earning himself a gasp of utter delight.

“You’re Merle!?!  Dad told us stories about you!  He said that you’re strong and brave and so much fun to be with!  He said that you travelled with him during the war and you two grew up together like siblings!”  Irma gushed, there was a soft slapping sound, as if she’d just clasped her hands together in delight.

Yup, she decided that she liked these two.  They had great taste in people. 

 “Of course, Father said you were annoying and loud with a mouth bigger than your brain, but don’t get upset, that’s nicer than what he says about a lot of people.  Do you really know how to use a sword?  Father said that we’re going to learn and he’s going to teach us how to pilot guymelef in the war.  Dad isn’t happy with that, but he said that he won’t stop us so long as we don’t get it into our heads to burn down cities… not sure what he means by that.  Are you learning too?  Will we be in the same unit?  Oh, this is so exciting!”

“She can’t answer you if you don’t give her the space to speak.” 

“Oh!  Sorry, sorry!”  Irma leaned closer, the smell of dragon was nearly overwhelming and made Merle’s fur stand on end despite the seemingly friendly behaviour.  “I just get excited to meet new people, especially those who don’t stare at me like I’m some sort of monster.”  There was a hint of sadness in her voice and it made the young cat-girl burn with curiosity, doing away with the last lingering shreds of her trepidation.

“A monster?  Why would people think that?”

“Well, because of my face… and my wings.”  Now she was the one who sounded shy and Merle could feel the brother, Ignis shift his stride slightly, likely looking over at his sister and offering encouragement.  It was hard to tell without her eyes, but Merle liked to think that she was good at reading people, and despite the light tones, she could hear the pain behind those words.  She’s heard them often enough coming from her own lips growing up, when she understood the jokes thrown her way, or why the servant kids wouldn’t play with her, or why others looked down on her.  So many people treated her like a somewhat clever animal, Lord Van’s pet rather than his friend, but Lord Van had never treated her like that.  He valued her friendship and her opinion.  All of his family had, but she supposed that they knew what it was like to be different, to be looked down on.

Just the memory alone caused her fur to bristle and she spun around to face the strange girl who smelled like a dragon but sounded as sweet and kind as Lady Varie had.

“So?”  She found herself saying, her voice sharp with indignation.  “Lord Van has wings, right?  And Dilandau has that ugly scar on his face… not to mention his face in general.” She couldn’t help but add.  “They do just fine.  Don’t let anyone’s opinion about your looks bother you.  People look at me and think I’m an animal because I’ve got fur and a tail.  They think I’m stupid and I don’t understand what they say about me, but they’re the idiots, because they forget that I’ve got claws too and I’m not afraid to use them.”  She grinned at them both.  “So don’t let people think you’re a monster, because I’ve decided that I like you.  And I don’t much care for monsters.”  Giving her head an authoritative nod, she considered the matter settled.

“I thought that you just said that the opinions of others don’t matter?”  There was a hint of a smile in Irma’s voice and Merle allowed herself a victorious grin.

“Except mine.” She helpfully clarified.  “My opinion always matters.”

“Is that so?”  Ignis sounded just as amused as his sister and Merle nodded her head confidently.

“Damn right.  You’ll figure it out for yourself soon enough.  I’m sort of awesome.”

“Are you now?”  Her tail fluffed a little indignantly in the face of his doubt.

“Hey, today, I saved the princesses life, twice I might add, was in an explosion, walked through a stampede of crazy war horses AND stopped an assassin while blind.  Oh, and this was all before breakfast.” She grinned at them all and patted her stomach indulgently.  “Imagine what I can do with a full meal in my belly.  I’ll be unstoppable!”  The brash statement had the effect she’d been aiming for and she could practically feel the two teenagers relax a little. 

“If you have finished making friends, we do have a disaster to avert.”  The commander’s voice cut in, tempting Merle to stick his tongue out at him and show him exactly what she thought about his authority.  Then she remembered exactly why she was here in this hallway rather than folding bandages in a quiet room.  Any moment now, her friends were going to attack the fortress.  The fortress filled with hurt people… children and elders, not to mention a certain princess she’d put a lot of effort into saving already.

“Dammit.”  She sighed heavily.  “Now I gotta go be a hero.”

 

She was still grumbling softly as she stood in an overly drafty hangar, the icy cold wind tugging at her fur and whipping her tail around until it ached.  As much as she wanted to rub her arms and give them a little heat, the idea of presenting a strong and confident image to the crew of the Crusade felt more important than mere physical comfort.  Van certainly wouldn’t crouch down and blow on his fingers just before a showdown, so she wouldn’t either.  Granted, Van was also convinced that having sex with Dilandau was a smart move, so he obviously didn’t know everything.

The act of the Crusade docking was impossible to miss even without her sight.  There was a series of sharp clangs that she could actually feel through the floor, followed by the loud hiss of hydraulics and metal sliding against metal.  Merle could picture the magnetic grapples shooting out and hitting the edges of the ship, locking it in place as the boarding plank was extended, thumping down heavily on the hangar floor.  Once the two ships were secured together, there was the clank and squeal of the loading bay door opening, followed immediately by the racket of many approaching booted feet as the would-be heroes raced onto the “enemy ship”.  Several of them already yelling out “FOR THE BOSS!”  As if Allen would ever approve of something so tactically stupid.

Of course, their forward charge to glory became a confused stumble and pause as the big manly men were greeted by a somewhat rumpled and rather stern looking cat girl who stood in their path, arms crossed and glaring disdainfully at them from beneath her bandages.

“Wow… a rescue party.  We’re saved.”  She deadpanned.  “You’re all idiots.”  For a moment, there was silence save for the whine of the wind whipping through the hangar.  Then, she made out the shuffling of feet as the men likely looked at each other in confusion, wondering how their grand plan had been so quickly derailed.

“Um… Merle?”  Yup, even Gaddes was there.  The idiot brigade was complete.  “Er… what are you doing here?”  It was hard not to smirk at how just standing there had utterly taken the wind out of his sails.  She could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and it made her smile a little wider, unable to resist playing a little despite the dire circumstances.

“I’ve already taken over the ship and proclaimed it to be my new kingdom.  ALL HAIL MERLE!.  Bow down before me morons!”

“What’!?!?  No way!?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Who ya calling a moron!?”  Yeah… some things never changed.  Giving the men a few moments to yell over each other, she heard her new companions murmur to each other.

“These were the heroes Dad travelled through the war with?”  Irma sounded skeptical, as if she was positive there was some joke going on that she wasn’t privy to.

“They sound like monkeys… insane monkeys.”  Ignis murmured and Merle found herself nodding her head slightly in agreement before she caught herself.

“Hey, they’re my monkeys.”  She grumbled, then stepped forward and raised her voice to be heard over the ruckus.  “SHADDUP!”  It felt damn good to have a hangar stunned to silence and she couldn’t help but give her tail a little contended flip.

“Gaddes, just what in the name of every god and goddess in Gaea do you think you’re doing?”  She could almost see them all staring at her, jaws hanging open in shock, then looking back at each other, then all of them staring at the sergeant, as if he’d somehow whip some brilliant excuse out of his butt.

“Um.. we’re here to rescue the Boss?”  … or not.  Idiocy was always a viable option it seemed.  If she could see where his head was, she’d hit him, there was always the chance of knocking some sense into that empty skull of his.  Of course, after seeing what Van had done to him last night, there likely wasn’t much room for sense under all that swelling.

“He doesn’t need rescuing.”  She growled softly, her exasperation showing in the sharp lashing of her tail.  “What he needs is rest and quiet.  Two things he certainly won’t be getting with you lot.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about Merle!”  Gaddes shot back heatedly, and she could hear him stepping forward, feel him looming over her.  Undaunted, the small cat girl looked up at him, her ears flattening in warning.  “There’s sorcerers on this ship!”

“And there’s assassins on the ground.”  Several gasps filled the air and she took a moment to wonder just how the crew had lasted this long.  “Or did you think I got these wounds from walking into a wall?”  She tilted her head to the side, showing where the knife had cut her skin.  The wounds were shallow and didn’t require stitches, but it’s not like they could see that through the bandages.  “Do you think my eyes are covered because it’s too bright and festive up here?  This is NOT a fashion statement.  I had a damn bomb go off in my face.  I had a building pretty much fall on me and nearly got trampled by stupid horses then AFTER all of that!  I had some freak try to cut his way through me to get at the princess!”  As she spoke, she felt that hot rush of blood on her hands, heard the cruel sneering words of her would be killer and felt that cold cruel blade against her throat.  Her fur stood on end and her tail was stiff, but she still took a step forward, forcing Gaddes to back off.

“Allen nearly died in those explosions!  He still might die if he’s moved!  They needed that sorcerer to keep him alive and you know what?  She did it.  He’s alive thanks to her and if we’re really REALLY lucky, he’ll walk again, but if you idiots storm in here waving your swords around and screaming, if you hurt the people trying to save him or do ANYTHING to put his life at risk, or the lives of anyone else on this fortress, you’re going to be dealing with Lord Van and Psycho boy.  This is Lord Van’s fortress, do you get that?  This is Fanelian soil!  This is HIS Kingdom and if you think that I’m going to let you just waltz in here and muck it up, oh mister, I’ve got a real nasty surprise for you.”

She could practically feel his indecision warring with concern but didn’t dare let up for a moment.  Taking another step forward, her tail bristling and lashing behind her, she felt a growl well up in the depths of her throat as the stress of the last few days… Hells, the last few colours finally found a way to vent itself.

“This is a civilian ship!  It’s filled with woman and children!  The only soldiers here are from Freid.  Are you planning on carving your way through their ranks to get to Allen?  Are you going to cut down Van too?  Because I can promise you that he won’t let you take anyone off of this ship who’s hurt and neither will I.”  Her claws extended and she dropped down into a slight crouch before baring her teeth.

“So what’s it gonna be Gaddes?  You going to put the sword away and act like an adult?  Or do I have to kick your ass off this fortress?”  As much as she’d love to believe that she struck an imposing figure, filling the older soldier with a sense of dread and respect, she knew damn well that in his eyes, she was little more than a puffed up kitten.  Worse, she was currently a crippled little kitten.

Still, her sheer temerity seemed to drive home the ridiculousness of the situation and she could hear the sergeant straighten up with a heavy sight and sheathe his sword.

“I’m not going to fight you Merle.”  He finally stated, likely making his first sensible decision of the week as far as she was concerned.

“It’s about time you started using your brain.”  She grumbled, covering her relief with bravado as she straightened up and sheathed her claws, doing her best to hide the minute trembling of her body.  Her threats hadn’t been a bluff as far as she was concerned.  If he’d tried to move past her, she’d have fought him with everything she had, but that didn’t mean that she was under any illusions that she’d have won. 

Rather than admitting that less than pleasant fact even to herself, she took a moment to lick the fur on the back of her hand, as if she didn’t have a care in the world and there wasn’t a small platoon of armed men standing in front of her.

“If you’re willing to behave yourself, I’ll take you to see Allen, but only you Gaddes.  The rest of you can wait here.”  It was hardly surprising that her statement was met with loud protests from the crew, but surprisingly, the sound of armoured boots on the deck behind her announced the presence of the commander, and two heavy padded footsteps and the unmistakable canine scent warned of two rather large beastmen flanking him.

“As the young lady stated, we have injured people aboard this ship and tensions are high, both with the residents of this fortress and yourselves.  I will not risk a misunderstanding or another injury.”  He stated in a cold voice which left no room for argument… at least if he was dealing with sensible people.

“You don’t get to tell us where we can and can’t go.”  Gaddes began, working himself up once again, but the commander cut him off neatly.  Thankfully, this man was quite used to dealing with the two most unruly teens on Gaea, and one ornery crewman wasn’t enough to make him so much as twitch a brow.

“I am Commander Antoni and I assure you that I can.  I speak with the authority given to me by King Van Fanel and Captain Dilandau Albatou.  If you wish to challenge this, then you will be challenging their orders.” 

 There was a significant pause as he no doubt was pointedly staring at the various vicious bruises standing out on the sergeant’s face, knowing full well how and why he’d gotten them. 

“Is that truly something you wish to do?”   The commander’s threat was further punctuated by one of the wolf kin growling softly.  The wound was low and primal, warning that the man wasn’t without power of his own.

As much as Merle didn’t like the man, she had to give him credit for the mastery he had over vocal inflection.  There was so much threat in that last sentence that even she felt a little shiver travel up her spine at the thought of either of the youths rage aimed at her. 

Realizing that he was already in trouble with the two young men in question, Gaddes did the only sensible thing he could do.  Accept the inevitable.

“Stay here and guard the ship.”  Gaddes ordered the rest of the crew.  It wasn’t a popular order.  That much was immediately clear.

“Awww c’mon!  We won’t break nothin!”  Kio protested loudly, his words echoed by several other throats.

“I ain’t guarding no ship in a hangar!  That’s boring!” Reeden wailed like a spoiled child.  Further protests from him were cut off by what sounded like a solid cuff to the head and a soft yelp.

“YOU WILL STAY HERE AND YOU WILL DAMN WELL BE HAPPY WITH IT!”  Gaddes yelled, his temper finally snapping.  It seemed that Merle wasn’t the only one feeling the recent stresses piling up on her.  “I will NOT have the king or the brat coming down on me over anything!  Sit here and make sure no one tries anything funny with the ship.  I’ll be back shortly.”

From where she stood, Merle could practically feel the crew fold.  While they might be unruly at the best of times, they all knew when they’d stepped over the line and none of them wanted to face the wrath of their superiors… likely also because Gaddes could cut their ship leave or worse, take away their drinking money.

“You’re bringing the boss back… right?”  Ort pressed, not cowed at all by the sergeant’s display of dominance despite the risk doing so entailed.  There was challenge in his voice and it made Merle wary.  “We ain’t trusting him to a ship full of zaibachi.  I don’t care that they they’re all reformed.  They’re still bug ass crazy bastards.”

“If you do feel the need to wander about poking into things, I believe I should point out that there is a dragon wandering about the ship.”  The commander cut in, his voice terrifyingly matter of fact, as if this was a normal event to experience on a floating fortress.  Of course, given Merle’s experiences with the zaibach people, that wasn’t really much of a surprise.  “He belongs to Captain Albatou and has a taste for the flesh of humans he doesn’t know.”

“You’re bluffing.”  Ort growled softly.  “You’ve got to be bluffing.”

“Have you MET the Kid?”  Kio sighed in a mix of horror and awe.  “I doubt that’s a bluff.  If anyone would have a pet dragon it would be him.”  More than a few voices murmured agreement and she heard Gaddes groan softly.  Nope, he didn’t doubt that for a moment.

“They’re not bluffing.” She felt the odd need to confirm the warning, just in case any of the crew didn’t fully believe in the full extent of Dilandau’s crazy.  “I can smell it.”  She pretended not to hear the clink of coins being exchanged.  Honestly, those men would bet on anything.

“Of course he’s got a dragon.”  Gaddes sighed, not sounding surprised at all.  In fact, he sounded tired more than anything, as if this was just one more weight to be borne on his back.  At this point, the sergeant wasn’t even sure who he should be more exasperated with.  It was just one thing after another and had been since those two damned cursed teenagers had come back.  While he might love them to bits, by Jeture, he was ready to toss them both in a sac, then a swiftly flowing river.

“Just… just take me to Allen.”  He ground out, rubbing his temples gingerly, already feeling the headache beginning to blossom behind his eyes.

“Just you.”  Merle repeated, unwilling to budge even a little.

“Just me.”  He agreed, shooting the crew another warning look, not that his glare could compete with a friggin dragon wandering the hallways, but hey, he was willing to lie to himself.  “Lead the way.”  He gave a wave of his hand, only to realize a moment later that she likely couldn’t see the motion, making him look like an idiot.

Heaving another sigh and beginning to wonder if perhaps he should have taken Teo’s advice and stayed on the ground, Gaddes followed the little cat who was heading to the door.  The commander fell into step beside him, the two hulking beastmen taking up the rear.  He wasn’t sure if they were acting as honour guard or were just waiting for a chance to kick his ass.  The big male with the patchwork black armour certainly looked like the one who’d been guarding the Brat’s door down in the palace.  In fact, he was pretty sure those big amber eyes were glaring down at him.  Yeah… they were waiting for a chance to kick his ass.

“So….”  He glanced over at the commander, noting the sallow complexion and how the flesh seemed to be stretched across his skull a little too tightly.  This man had been starved recently, and for a prolonged period.  Not something one would expect from a high-ranking commander.  “Commander of a flying fortress huh?”  He was asking more to kill the silence aside from their footsteps echoing on the metal floor than out of any true curiosity.  “That pay well?” 

Cold glacier blue eyes stared at him appraisingly and one of the beastmen growled something softly.

“Was it Lord Dilandau or King Fanel who beat you to a bloody pulp?”  The commander asked in lieu of actually answering the question and smiled thinly at the sergeant’s flinch.

“Alright, point taken.”  Gaddes grumbled, doing his best to ignore how Merle snickered softly ahead of them.  Being surly must be a zaibachi trait.  They all seemed to have it.  In fact, Gaddes was willing to bet that relaxing and just taking a moment to be pleasant was an anathema to the whole damn culture. 

As they approached the hangar door, two figures seemed to melt out of the shadows on either side of them.  He hadn’t noticed them at all until they moved, which was shocking because they each seemed designed to stand out and catch a person’s attention.

The two were young teens, perhaps around Merle’s age, give or take a year.  Their bodies still thin and gangly as they struggled to grow into their adult height.  Still, there was a strange sort of grace to their movements, reminding him of a predator stalking through the brush after prey.  Not a comfortable comparison considering where he likely stood in that scenario.

Clad in the uniforms of high-ranking officers and each bearing a sword at their sides, Gaddes was willing to bet his eye teeth that they were in no way zaibachi military.  Neither had that sort of sharpness which always made Zaibach soldiers look like they were half a heartbeat away from snapping into a salute.  Also, while he had seen rare and unusually skilled beastkin within their ranks on occasion, he’d never seen one like this girl.  At least he was pretty sure it was a girl.

Broad shouldered and strong looking, she stared at him brazenly with huge golden, slit pupiled eyes which watched him with unblinking attention.  Her face was bestial, bearing a fang filled muzzle, heavy brow and hard scale ridges.  Even the way she carried herself wasn’t quite… human.  In fact, it made something deep inside him cringe away warily, but it wasn’t until he stared into those strange eyes that he felt that terrifying flash of recognition.  Her eyes were identical to that dragon in Fanelia.  That same cold ancient cunning, as if she could see deep into his soul, laying all of it’s secrets bare.  To say that it was unnerving was an understatement and he found his steps faltering as they drew nearer.

The youth, in contrast seemed almost mundane despite his exotic appearance.  Hair the colour of flames, skin a rich dark golden brown and eyes the colour of freshly minted gold coins, he looked like fire made flesh and Gaddes had no doubt that he could likely be just as destructive.  Where the beast girl was powerfully built, he was slender, sliding through the shadows where she strode boldly.  His features were lovely and would likely grow even more refined as he aged.  A perfect blending of fanelian and egzardian beauty, he certainly stood out against the dark monochromatic surroundings of the fortress.

“You weren’t lying.”  The youth said to Merle, his astorian was strongly accented with fanelian, almost a perfect match with Van’s.   “You really are awesome.”  A faint smile touched his lips and the beast girl chuckled.  It was a strange sort of hissing sound, her mouth hanging open slightly.

“You got them here without violence.  Thank you for that.  A fight would have upset Kamata, and he’s had a stressful time.”

“Yeah, well, never underestimate a well motivated cat.”  Merle grinned at the two of them, her tail weaving back and forth by her feet, relaxed despite being surrounded by those Gaddes considered enemies.

“He doesn’t trust us.”  The beast girl stated, glancing at Gaddes coolly, as if he was irritating her by being worried for his life.  Granted, if she really was some sort of dragon-kin, then she’d be sensitive to negative emotions… right?  So, all he had to do was think happy thoughts.  Thoughts that didn’t involve being surrounded by former enemies, floating high above a half-destroyed city in a fortress possibly filled by sorcerers who might or might not be holding his best friend captive… yeah, no problem at all!

The beast-kin’s eyes narrowed, and she gave hear head a somewhat annoyed shake before opening the door, using the same sort of strange square panel thing that Scholar Inverness had in his labs. 

The door wooshed open smoothly, revealing an equally monochromatic hallway beyond.  The only feature was a rather large Zaibach flag, and what looked like an improvised flag of Fanelia hanging next to it.

There was nothing to hint at what direction they should go.  The hallway was identical in each direction, but the two youths and the commander turned confidently to the left.  Merle moving somewhat slower due to having to trace her fingertips along the wall. 

For a moment, Gaddes pondered hesitating.  Suddenly rather loathe to leave his crew behind and head off into the possibly hostile unknown.  But he reminded himself that Allen was in here somewhere, and it was up to him to not only find him, but to make sure that he was alright.  If he wasn’t… then by Jeture, he was going to make everyone on this damn ship pay… and give Merle one hell of a stern talking to!

“Relax moron.”  Merle snickered over her shoulder.  “I can smell you from here.  If they didn’t want you here, I’m sure they would have shot you down or something before you could dock.”  Her words didn’t calm him in the least and he opened his mouth to argue that floating fortresses weren’t armed, but, then he remembered that the Brat had been living here for an undisclosed period of time.  There was no reason at all to believe that he wouldn’t have found some way to turn it into a floating death machine… and now it was hovering over the capital… dammit.  He really needed to stop thinking.  It was making him even more paranoid.

They hadn’t been walking for more than a few seconds before Gadden became aware of the sounds of others moving about.  The clink of metal on metal, the sound of cloth being cut, gasps and groans of pain and softly murmuring voices.  Bracing himself for the worst, his hand resting on the handle of his sword, he followed the others around the corner of the hallway and… and entered what seemed to be a medical facility.  A very packed medical facility filled with more people than he could easily count.

Most surprisingly, there weren’t any tall stooping figures in ominous black cloaks, but rather a ragtag group of people working hard around a near endless series of beds, both real and makeshift, doing their best to keep a near endless amount of people alive.  He could smell antiseptic and blood, see a huge array of dirty bandages and pads as well as hear the strange beeping of rather ominous looking machines.

It took a few moments for his eyes to register everything he was seeing.  There were so many injured in there, all of them badly hurt to the point that they should have been walking on the Paths of the Dead, but the medics were somehow keeping the end at bay.  Seemingly at the head of this feat was an elderly looking wolf man bustling about between the tables, offering advice and brewing poultices in a small bone cup even as he murmured soothing words in what sounded like Freidian.  Despite his drooping ears and somewhat patchy fur, his eyes were bright and alert, growing with visible warmth as their group entered the med bay.

The two youths immediately went to his side and spoke to him softly, their tone and posture radiating deep respect for the old wolf and even the commander gave him a respectful nod.

He could hear several languages being spoken all around him.  It was unsurprisingly predominantly zaibachi, but he recognized a lot of Astorian and Freidian as well.  Everyone was working together in a way he hadn’t even seen in the war.  It was both heartwarming and utterly devastating all at the same time.

“Nothing brings humanity together like tragedy.”  A familiar voice off to his right made Gaddes spin around, only to come face to face with Dryden.  The heir looked a little worse for wear.  His hair was singed, there were some deep scratches across his face and a dark goose egg rose up from his brow beneath some stitches.  His ever-present sunglasses were missing, giving the sergeant the first clear look he’d ever had of the man’s face.  Sadly, the usually jovial heir looked tired and worn.  His face was one who’d seen far too much pain and sorrow in a too brief period of time.  It was an expression shared by many of the people around him.

“Sire?”  Gaddes wasn’t sure he’d heard him properly.  In his defense, he’d never heard the normally carefree and jaunty man sound so … subdued.  Belatedly, he also realized that he hadn’t bowed, but as he started to do so, Dryden waved it off.

“This is hardly the time or place for courtly formalities.”  He replied.  “Come on and help me prepare some bandages while we talk.  I refuse to do nothing while everyone else is working so hard to save lives.”  Offering Gaddes a somewhat thin smile, he held up his hands, giving them a rather rueful look.  “Turns out I can’t handle the sight of so much blood, and I do horrible stitches.  Terrible trait in a king isn’t it?  I have the power to send men and boys out to die for my causes, but I can’t bring myself to look at the results of such orders.”

Still in shock, the sergeant mutely followed, unsure of what he was supposed to do in this sort of situation.  Thankfully, Merle popped up next to him and took him by the arm, leading him through the bustling bodies of the wounded and those trying to save them.

“Do you see what I mean now?”  She asked him, her voice soft but firm.  “They’ve brought the worst cases up here, those who would die down below.  For once, Zaibach science is going to save lives, and I for one won’t turn my back on it just because it hurt me once.  If I did… I couldn’t look any of the survivors on the eye.”

They brought the worst up here to be healed… They’d said that Allen might die…They’d brought his best friend up here in a frantic attempt to save his life…Allen might be dying!

The world seemed to spin around him and the air felt too thin and stifling, but Merle’s grip on his arm tightened in warning.

“Keep it together old man.”  She warned.  “Fold bandages until you calm down enough to handle all of this or you’ll just be another problem everyone has to deal with, and they’ve got enough on their plates right now.  They don’t need your ugly ass sprawled out on the floor.” 

He found himself at a table piled high with cloths.  Many of them looked like torn up bedsheets which had been put into two separate piles.  Then there was a bin on a rolling table where the folded strips had been carefully placed, ready for use.

“Take the sheets from this pile and fold them like so.”  Dryden demonstrated, neatly folding the cloth over itself several times until it made a neat and tidy square several layers thick.  “Then place it inside this strip.  These are to soak up the blood, but the threads aren’t the best and might get into open wounds, so we’re placing them inside the better-quality sheets, then these loose bits are to wrap around the limb in question.  Fold them like this each time. It makes it easier for when the medics need them.”  Still feeling like he’d been punched in the gut by a melef, Gaddes numbly followed.  No one spoke for several long minutes, and slowly, he began to feel his equilibrium return.

“How bad is it?”  He finally dared to ask, not able to look up.  Merle said nothing, though he could see her pressing her lips together, her tail hanging low to the floor.  Dryden paused for a moment and then resumed his careful folding.

“He was in the catacombs when an explosive detonated, causing a cave in.”  The Heir replied softly, his voice pitched low so as to not carry, not that anyone had the time to listen.  “Nine knights went in.  four came out… one didn’t make it long enough to see the sun rise.”  Sweet Jeture… Gaddes didn’t even have words for this.  The Knights Caeli were the best warriors in the country!  The most loyal, trusted and skilled! It was another devastating blow to Astoria and he could feel himself beginning to tremble.

“He saved Princess Ereis… pushed her out of the way of a rock fall, but he was hit… and crushed.”  Hands stilling, Gaddes couldn’t even bring himself to pretend to fold the cloths.  All he could do was stare at Dryden in growing horror.  “There… there was extensive internal damage and bleeding.  They had to dig him out… they… almost lost him several times down there, then he almost died making it up to the surface.”  Dryden sighed and closed his eyes.  Taking several deep breaths, he did his best to compose himself, though several tears did escape, sliding down his unusually pale cheeks. 

While he might not have been best friends with the noble knight, they had indulged in a friendly rivalry for some time and there was a deep respect between the two men.   It pained Dryden deeply to see someone so proud and filled with true nobility suffer so many tragedies over the course of his life.  King Aston had spoken truthfully in that long-ago meeting with Dilandau.  The name Schezar it seemed, was truly cursed. 

“He’s one of the most delicate cases and even now, his life hangs in the balance.  It’s only his fierce will that keeps him going… but even that might falter.”  He paused again, looking down at his hands.  “His legs… one was badly broken from the rocks… but the other…”  The words were forced out and Gaddes wished that he didn’t have to hear them, but he owed his best friend that much.  He had to know or it would haunt him forever.

“They had to amputate.  There was no saving it.”

Gaddes let out a loud pain filled breath, it sounded almost like a bark more than anything else.  Oh Jeture why?  Why pile so much pain on this man?  What had he done to deserve this?  Allen was a warrior, a swordsman.  He was one of the best on Gaea and was rightfully proud of his skill… to have it lost like that… to have to live in the shadow of his former glory…

“The sorcerers believe that they can make him a new leg, similar in idea to Lord Folken’s arm.  He can walk again if all goes well.  He’ll be able to stand, to run… to fight.  With Jeture’s grace, he’ll be whole once more.”

“At what cost?”  Gaddes murmured despite himself.  He felt sick and defeated.  All he wanted to do was slink back to the Crusade, curl up in his cabin and scream for several hours… maybe punch the walls until his hands broke.  Anything was better than accepting this nightmare.

“It’s worth the cost.”  Dryden replied, his voice bearing a sharp edge to it.  “This was Millerna’s idea and Lady Celena agreed.  They will see Allen walk again, either with zaibachi magic, or they will drag Jeture Himself up here and make him wish Allen better.  Between those two, I wouldn’t doubt their ability to make it happen, but I much prefer the sorcerers to an angry dragon god.”

“This is not the time to joke!”  Gaddes snapped, thumping his fists down on the metal table hard enough to catch the attention of several nearby people.  Dryden flashed them a rather strained and fake looking smile, waving them away, as if a commoner hadn’t just taken a bite out of the heir to the throne.  Common sense would have dictated that the sergeant shut the hell up, but Gaddes’s mouth just kept right on going.  “Those sorcerers are sick and evil!  You didn’t read those files!  You didn’t see what they did to Dilandau for years.  You didn’t see what it did to him!  I did!”

“Dilandau himself demanded that I grant the sorcerers clemancy.”  Dryden reminded him as he finally looked up, meeting and holding Gaddes’ eyes with his own.  “He ordered the sorcerer to hook him up to their machines so he could share his life with Allen.  It likely saved Allen’s life at the risk of his own.  Are you discounting his say in this?  I do believe that it far exceeds yours in this matter.”

That caught Gaddes off guard, causing him to drop the bandage in his hands onto the table, ruining his careful folds.  But… how?  He’d seen how badly even thinking about the sorcerers had affected him before, and now he’d been their prisoner, tortured and likely far worse by the feature demon of all his nightmares.  How could he just brush it all off and walk back into the proverbial dragon’s den?

It was for Allen… of course.  For all his griping and antagonism, deep down, he loved his brother, and like all those he truly cared about, the pale teen would move the worlds themselves to protect him.

“It seems that our young captain has found a cause beyond himself to drive himself towards.  If what I have seen of him is true to form, he will not allow anything, not even his own personal terrors to get in the way of his goal.”  Dryden remarked softly, as if reading the sergeant’s mind.  “I believe it would be best to honour his decision, as it was not given lightly.”

This had to be because of Van, because he had an anchor… one who believed in him and was willing to stand by him, he’d found the strength to face his terror, to defy those who would control him… the way he’d defied Gaddes.  No, best not to think about that, it just made him nauseous to think of how many ways he’d betrayed that boy’s trust.  It seemed that whenever he needed Gaddes the most, he was greeted with a punch to the gut. 

While he knew that the chances of Dilandau ever turning to him again for any reason were slim, he still promised himself and any gods who were listening, that he’d listen to him.  He’d do what he could to help.  He owed it to the Schezar family, to his friends, and to those two crazy brats who never ceased to drive him up the wall.

Carefully, he picked up the bandage and began to refold it, using the simple but precise motions to sort out the turmoil in his head.  Someone came by to collect the basket of bandages, replacing it with an empty one waiting to be filled.  The three of them dutifully did so in silence.  Gaddes still too torn to speak and the other two respecting his need for quiet.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he looked up at the heir.

“Can I see Allen?”  His request was met with a thoughtful look.

“Are you sure you can handle it?  He doesn’t look good.” 

Swallowing audibly, Gaddes nodded his head and took a deep bracing breath.  He was deeply grateful at the forethought shown today in keeping the crew with the ship.  They wouldn’t have handled this at all well.  Hells, he was barely keeping it together and he was the most balanced member of the group!

“I… I need to see him.”  His voice was so soft that he might as well have been speaking to himself.  “I need to talk to him.  Even if he can’t hear me.  Please.”  Now that this previously unrealized need has been voiced, it burned inside him.  All the things left unsaid between them.  All the secrets, the lies, the pain… all of the fears and the love.  Allen was his best friend.  The first person who’d ever believed in him, who’d looked at the failed soldier living in a ditch and given him a chance, a purpose… a life.  He owed this man everything, and he’d almost lost him before he could tell him so. 

Dryden seemed to study him for a long moment weighting his words against all the things which still remained unsaid, hovering behind his eyes.  Slowly, he nodded his head.

 

They’d done what they could to warn him but it still stole the breath from his lungs to see Allen laying there on that bed.  No one should look that pale and drained.  Jeture, even the brat’s snowy white skin held more promise of life beneath it than Allen’s did.  He was as pale as the pillows he rested on, the only colour came from the sickly-looking bruises covering his face and several angry looking slashes across his left cheek, a cruel mirror of his brother’s scar.

A long strange looking tube was in his mouth, its purpose revealed by the soft intermittent hiss of air moving through it, forcing air into his lungs.  It sickened him to see the vile violation of his friend, how the most basic functions of his body had been stolen away in the most intimate way possible.  It was an abomination and just seeing those mechanical bellows expanding and compressing in time with the movements of his chest made his blood run cold.

Just as bad were the thin tubes that had been inserted into his arms.  One was deep crimson, dripping a steady supply of blood into him from a bag which hung by the head of his bed.  The other was filled with a clear fluid of unknown origin, the bag it was attached to marked in Zaibach’s arcane scrawl.  He could only hope that Dryden was right, and they were meant to heal him, because seeing those tubes going into his friend reminded him all too clearly of the pinprick scars he’d seen on Dilandau’s arms and neck.

Wires covered his body like the webs of mechanical spiders, leading to several large machines rather like the information box Scholar Inverness had in his labs.  Like them, these one’s beeped in a constant rhythm, reminding the sergeant of a heartbeat and Sweet Jeture, he hoped that they weren’t controlling his heart as well.  That was just… blasphemous. 

Speaking of unholy acts, Gaddes’ eyes slowly traced their way down Allen’s body, almost against his will.  They took in his unnatural stillness, the shape of the heavy braces holding his right leg bound and immobile, while the other leg… what should have been the other leg… there was nothing but flat blanket.  It was wrong, so horribly wrong that for a moment, he clapped his hand over his mouth, feeling the contents of his stomach threaten to rise.

“He will heal in time.”  Dryden said softly from the doorway.  “It will take a while, and he’ll always bear the marks of his heroism, but he’ll heal.”

“His body might.”  Gaddes ground out through clenched teeth, not quite daring to open his mouth just in case his stomach truly did rebel.  “But what about the rest of him?”

“He’ll walk again.  If Zaibach’s sorcerers can build a person from nothing, then I have no doubt that they can make a man walk again.”  Dryden walked into the room and looked down at his friend, his expression reserved and full of hundreds of thoughts left unsaid.  “We owe him so much, and he’s asked for so little in return.  All he wanted was his family to be safe.  We are in his debt and I swear it shall be paid.”

“Words don’t mean shit if he’s stuck in a bed for the rest of his life.”  Gaddes growled softly.  “Do you really think that those damn sorcerers can save him?  More importantly, do you believe that he’d want their help?  It was their dark magics that tore his family apart.”

“And it is their magic that has brought them back together.”  The heir pointed out.  “If that pillar hadn’t brought Van and Dilandau here when it did, we wouldn’t be arguing about the ethics of artificial limbs.  We’d be dust in the wind beneath a rising sun.  Astoria would be nothing but a story of a lost kingdom, whispered about in hushed taverns or around a campfire.”

“That wasn’t sorcery, that was… something else.”  Gaddes closed his eyes, doing his best not to remember black wings spreading out, filling the room and sucking away all the light and warmth while glowing eyes threatened to flay his soul apart. 

They weren’t human, and he was so out of his depth that he wanted to just curl up in a corner and scream at the sheer fucked upness of his life.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”  Dryden smiled thinly.  “It seems that we have many friends today, and I for one will not squander them.  They have everything to gain from allying with us, and everything to lose if they refuse.”

“Didn’t you hear me before?  words don’t mean shit when our friends are laying on beds broken and bleeding or stumbling around blinded.”  He couldn’t resist shooting back tersely, remembering why he hated intellectuals.  Pretty proverbs weren’t going to solve this.  They needed action!  They needed to strike back, to show Basram that they weren’t beaten!

As if he could read the expression on his face, Dryden shook his head and closed his eyes, looking very old and worn.

“They’re all we have at this moment.  What you’re thinking, it’s a fool’s errand.”  The heir stated, his voice firm and cool, filled with authority.  “You want to hit them back, to make them hurt.  We can’t afford that vanity. Yes, that’s all it would be is empty vanity.”  He cut off Gaddes before the man could argue.  “We have barely enough resources to survive the winter, only a handful of Knights Caeli survived that attack, which means only a precious few guymelefs are able to take to the field.  The rest of our pilots are that in name only.  Like yourself, they’ve never actually ridden in one of the machines let alone fought in one.  Our best hope lies in two exhausted draconians, and I for one am not about to go racing off into war against an enemy who is quite clearly ready for us.”

“So what?  We sit back and hope that we catch the next bomb in time?”

“No.  We plan, we strategize.  We work with the other countries and ensure this doesn’t happen again, because once word gets back to Basram that we survived their bomb, they’re going to pick another target, one without children of atlantis wandering around.” 

Gaddes could only shake his head at those words.  They sounded so naive.  This was too big for them, too overpowering.  There was no way that all of Gaea could survive a winter wondering which city was going to be devoured in a blast of light without warning.  Nerves would fray, the populace would panic, and the countries would tear themselves apart from within.

“This is why we have spies and generals Gaddes.”  Dryden reminded him, gently resting a hand on his shoulder.  “They will do what they know best and we will follow their advice.”

“Generals like Malenchamp?”  He hadn’t forgotten the cowardly noble who’d attacked Dilandau in the Palas court, only to be knocked out by the brat before he could land a single blow.  “We would be better off throwing daggers at a map.”

“Mind yourself Gaddes.”  The heir warned him in a deceptively gentle voice.  “He is a politically powerful man and the two of you made quite the enemy out of him.  Further antagonism will gain you nothing but trouble.  That being said, yes, the man is a coward and I place little value in his strategies.”  Honestly, conversations with this man were dizzying, and Gaddes had little patience for word games.

“We will all do what we do best to ensure that we win this war.”  The heir continued.  “I will lead, the generals will advise, and you will give Allen all of your support and get him up on his feet and fighting as soon as he’s ready.”

“So, you’re telling me to mind my own damn business and stay out of the big boy’s pond.”

“Nonsense, I was rather politely advising that you do so.  There is a difference Gaddes.”  Dryden smiled at him; a trace of his usual humour ghosted across his lips.  “Stay with Allen, talk to him, encourage him to get better.  If you need anything, there is this thing they call an intercom here on the wall.  Push this button and it will allow you to speak to … well, someone.”  He motioned towards a metal grate on the wall.  “Ingenious really.  Saves a great deal of time not having to rely on messengers within the palace.”  Gaddes nodded his head, pretending to care, when all he wanted was for the damn heir to leave the room so he could be alone with Allen.

“A medic will be by every hour to check on him.”  Dryden advised.  “If there’s a problem, press the intercom button and call for help.”  The gravity in his tone made the sergeant shudder slightly, but he just nodded his head again.  “Truth be told, I’m not sure if I like this intercom thing honestly.  It doesn’t seem right, speaking to someone you can’t, and likely never will see.  It’s rather like you’re talking to the wall… and it’s talking back.”

“Sire….”  Dryden seemed to realize that he was babbling and drawing out his exit rather unnecessarily.  Flashing Gaddes a somewhat apologetic smile, he nodded his head.

“Ah, yes… sorry.  If you need me, I’ll be back in the main med bay, folding bandages and staying out of everyone’s way.”  Offering Gaddes another wan smile, the heir slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him and leaving the sergeant alone with Allen and the weight between them.

The room was horrifyingly quiet, save for the regular beep of the machine and the hiss of the air bladder.  The sounds made his skin crawl and they gave everything an uncomfortably surreal feel.  Despite his best efforts, ignoring them was impossible, and listening to them just made him think about why they were so desperately needed.

Unsure of what to do in this sort of situation, Gaddes pulled out a stool and set it next to the bed for him to sit on.  It wasn’t at all comfortable, but he was pretty sure that if he tried to remain standing, his legs would give out.  Too much had happened today and any minute now, his body was going to realize that and rebel… that was, if his spirit didn’t give out first.

“Boss…”  He’d never tried to speak to his friend before like this and for a moment had no idea what to say.  Even after that horrible battle on the edge of Freid when one of the Brat’s crima claws had gotten through his guard, Allen had had more life in him. 

Reaching out his hand, he tentatively brushed Allen’s fingers with his own, then quickly pulled back, unsure of himself.  Would the touch hurt Allen?  Would it even be wanted?  Could he fell it?  Why was his hand so cold?  Was that normal for someone hurt as badly as he was?  Dammit, why did everything have to be so complicated!?

“Boss…”  He began again, licking his lips nervously as he searched for the right words.  Finally, he decided to just let his mouth move and see what came out.  It’s not like Allen was awake or aware of what he was saying, but the sound of his voice might just help the man find his way back to the land of the living… or at the very least, offer some measure of comfort.  “Boss, I fucked up.  I fucked up bad with pretty much everything, and I don’t know how to fix it.”  Once he started speaking, it got easier to keep going.  Emboldened by the ready flow of words, he reached out and gently took hold of Allen’s hand in his, careful not to squeeze, just in case it was injured as well, but he took the lack of splints as a good sign.

“I don’t even know where to begin with it all, but please believe me when I say that I’m going to do everything I can to earn your trust back and make things better between us.  Yeah, I know, big words seeing as I haven’t even told you what I’ve done… so if you want me to stop, just tell me ok?”  He spared a quick glance at his friend’s face, but there was no sign of life, not even so much of a flicker of movement from a honey gold lash.

“Yeah… you’re right, I’m always screwing things up, but you’re always standing up for me.  Still don’t know what you saw in me that night on the road all those years ago.  I was just some filthy beggar in a ditch, didn’t have two coins to rub together but that didn’t keep you from stopping your horse and talking to me.  Heh, do you remember that?  You all tall and lordly, still acting all proud even though those damn noble prigs had sent you off into exile.  You practically shone like some knight in a minstrel’s tale despite there being a storm from hell whipping up around us.

You looked at me, I looked at you and you asked, all kindly if you please if I was a lookout for bandits.  Heh.  Yeah, like any self-respecting bandit would have been out in that weather.  I remember telling you that only an idiot would be out in a storm like this, and you smiled at me and asked, “Well then what does that make us?”  Fucking smarmy bastard.  It didn’t take a genius to see what you were, nice clothes, fancy horse and a fine sword, with a damn pony trailing behind, laden with bags but no retinue, no servants following you, eager it wipe your ass or whatever it is servants are supposed to do.  You were exiled from the court, cast out of the shining glory for some reason or another and for once, I found myself on the same level as a shining Palas Lord… well, mostly.  You still had the damn horse.

In hindsight, I’m rather surprised I didn’t get it into my fool head to try to mug you.  I mean, I had nothing, just the filthy clothes on my back, and here you were with a horse and a heavily laden pony.  It would have been easy… well… it looked like it should’a been easy.  Instead, heh, I got it into my head to sass you and said “Just a couple of wet fuckups.”

Most nobles would have given me a look of disgust, or kicked me, or run me over with their damn horse, but you, you threw your head back and laughed as if I’d just said the funniest damn thing in the world.  I figured I must have pegged you pretty good, but I certainly wasn’t expecting you to invite me to travel with you to the nearest inn.

Looking back, you must have been so lonely.  On the road for days, away from everyone, living like one of us savages.  I mean, sure, I know now that you were doing just fine, but back then, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how you were doing so well or made it this far with your pony still attached to you.

You paid for my room for the night, paid for my dinner and ale.  You sat up with me in that common room most of the night, till the innkeep told us to bugger off so he could lock up.  I bet I was the first person to really just talk to you, to see you as a person and not some set of lofty titles and tragic family history.  You didn’t have to explain about your parents, your sister… nothing.  You didn’t have to see my knowing looks and innuendo’s about the princesses… which by the way boss, I gotta say that I was damn proud of you and impressed when I found out that pretty much all the Aston daughters thought you’d hung the moon and stars in the sky.  That’s fucking legendary.”  He smiled down at his friend, chuckling fondly at the memories of that young and still bitter knight, stoic in his grief, carrying it like a heavy cloak around his shoulders, letting its weight slowly crush him.

“I’d never seen a Knight Caeli before you.  Heard about ‘em.  I mean, who hadn’t.  You guys were friggin legends! Never in my life did I think that I’d get to meet one, to fight by the side of one… to see one as a brother.” 

Grief welled up inside him, threatening to burst through his skin and choking off his words as tears fell freely from his eyes.  He couldn’t do it.  Couldn’t look at his friend like this.  Allen was his brother, his hero… his best friend, and now he was laying there on the bed broken and beaten while he did nothing but talk!

“Dammit Allen.”  Gaddes growled, his free hand clenching tightly at the blanket wrapped around the knight’s frail form.  “We’re going to get Basram for this.  We’re going to find that fucking general and his sorcerous dog and tear them apart!  We’ll hang their entrails from the Crusade and piss on their bones!” 

Pushing himself back up to his feet, he stalked around the room like a caged panther, his hands clenched so tightly into fists that his knuckles ached.  The damned beeping of that infernal machine grated on him, goading him with each sound, reminding him of what the enemy country had done to his friend, done to all of them.  Even now, the people of Palas were still digging bodies out of the rubble, desperately searching for survivors.  Astorian eyes were staring out over the ruins of the city, wondering what had happened to cause this destruction and why their allies had turned on them.

It wasn’t fair!  But what was?  Was it fair that Allen had lost his little sister? That she’d been tortured and turned into a vicious monster who in turn had been forced into that life?  Was it fair that Van had to lose his kingdom?  His family and everyone he’d ever known all in the name of a perfect future?  Was it fair that after triumphing over impossible odds, when they’d finally been given a taste of victory, or peace… everything had been snatched from their fingers?

No… it wasn’t fair.  It never was.  The odds were endlessly stacked against them, but that’s what made those moments of joy so precious.  It’s what bonded them all together and kept them struggling despite the odds.  It’s what made a noble stop on a stormy muddy road and offer friendship to the ruffian he met there.  It’s what made a knight step in front of the killing stroke of his friend’s sword to protect a murderer who turned out to be his long-lost sister.  It’s what made the wild and disparate members of the Crusade crew a family, following a man most others had written off as a wastrel, only to all rise up and become war heroes.

Sighing heavily, he returned to his stool and took Allen’s hand once more in his.

“Dryden’s right as usual.”  He murmured to his unmoving friend.  “We can’t race off into war.  Not without a plan, without supplies and without a lot of luck.  They’ve got us by the balls and they hurt us badly, but we’re not beaten yet, right?  We still have hope.  We’ve got two crazy draconians on our side, a floating fortress, Escaflowne and your true and loyal crew.  We won the Destiny War with less.”  A smile pulled at his lips as he imagined how Allen would nod knowingly at this, a plan already taking root in his mind.

“Ugh, I just hate not being able to hit them back!  I mean… fuck, I thought zaibach was being cowardly when they attacked Fanelia the way they did… but this…At least the Brat’s brats had to look at the people as they burned them alive, they were in it up to their elbows… This… they didn’t even land, didn’t have to own up to anything.”  He ran his fingers through his hair and growled in anger. 

“We can’t fight back, can’t even really defend ourselves and dammit, what kind of message does it send to the other countries?  You can blow us up and that’s ok cause we’re too busy trying to survive to do anything about it?”  Man, this had to be how Zaibach had felt centuries ago before their Emperor came.  No wonder they’d had such chips on their shoulders.  He’d only felt that for a day and it was already driving him mad.  “Dammit!  Now they were making me sympathize with Zaibach!  This sucked!”

Taking several deep calming breaths, he looked back down at Allen, imagining the knight giving him a stern look, gently chastising him for his temper and impatience.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.  Our pride means nothing if it leads us to death.  Our priority is the people around us and racing into battle won’t help them at all.  We need to look after them, make sure they’re alright before we even consider moving forward.  It makes sense, but it still pisses me off.”  Ugh, Teo was right.  He should have stayed, helped out where he could rather than racing off on a fool’s errand like an idiot.

“Most things that make sense do.”  A woman’s voice spoke from the doorway.  Gaddes was on his feet, his sword half drawn from its sheathe when he felt the chill touch of a blade against his neck.  “And then you had to ruin it by being a fucking idiot.  Get your hand off the sword before I cut it off and strangle you with it.” 

Blinking in shock, the sergeant found himself staring into ice cold jade green eyes set in a stern face.  The pale skin and strong features marked her as zaibachi as much as her accent, and it took a few moments for Gaddes to realize that she was the one holding the knife to his throat.  Well… damn.

“Hi!  I’m Gaddes.”  He found himself saying, slowly pulling his hand away from the sword, his eyes never leaving hers.  “I work for Allen, I’m his second in command.”

“Did I ask you for your fucking name?”  She growled at him in obvious irritation, those cold eyes narrowing slightly.  There was the distinct feeling that she was giving serious thought to just slitting his throat and walking away, but thankfully, it seemed that she didn’t want to add to the already overburdened healers.  The blade was gone faster than he could follow and the woman turned away from him to look down at Allen.

“They got him stabilized.  Good.  Bloody ponce just had to go and try to be a hero.”  A contemptuous sneer tugged at her lips and Gaddes just couldn’t stop staring at her.  She was whip thin beneath her uniform, but he had no doubt that tightly corded muscles lay beneath her skin.  The way she carried herself, the perfectly controlled movements… she moved the same way Dilandau did.  This woman was a predator, a dangerous one at that and he had no doubt that if they both drew steel, he might not find himself on the winning end of the blade.

“He saved the Princess.”  Gaddes couldn’t help but snap at her, determined to protect his friend from this crude and vicious stranger.

“Hmph, they had a spare.  What we need is competent warriors more than figureheads in tiaras.

“That “figurehead” happens to be a friend of mine!”  Alright, maybe not a friend… and he might not have ever spoken a single word to Princess Ereis, but the thought was there, and it was a friendship lived vicariously through Allen… sort of.  It seemed that the woman wasn’t convinced in the least because she took a long moment to stare at his cheap sensible working-class clothes, to note his rough speech and obvious lack of breeding. 

“Somehow I very much doubt that.”

“Look lady.  I have no idea who you are or why you’re here, but you can piss right off with that attitude.  I have every right to be here with my friend, but I highly doubt you do.”  His hand moved back to his sword but the look in her eyes froze him in place.  It was unnerving, but he could actually feel his body overrule his mind and give him a solid “nope”.  It wasn’t ready to commit suicide.

“I’m the woman who dug that lace wearing ponce out of the earth.  He and your precious princess.  Rusha and I tracked them through the catacombs with the stones about us threatening to collapse at any moment, knowing fully well that we would more likely be greeted with naked steel than thanks.  I personally carried him up to safety and loaded him onto the ship taking him here.”  She returned, her voice never once raising from a calm cool monotone, but Gaddes could feel the hair raising on the back of his neck.  “I am the preeminent assassin of the Zaibach empire and I am the mother of one of the Dragonslayers you sat back and watched be slaughtered.  Yet I have also travelled across Gaea with this man, tracking down my son’s leader, and his murder in order to ensure their survival and thus, victory in this upcoming war.  I’m also one of the people going out of my way to ensure that he manages to walk again.  So do go ahead and tell me that I have no right to be here.”

Yup, he was in shit.

“Lady, I spent almost a colour babysitting Albatou and trying to keep his crazy under control so why don’t you go waving that blade somewhere else because compared to him having a tantrum, you’re not nearly scary enough to make me shit my pants.”  He was going to die now.  There was no doubt about it.  He’d finally gone and done something so stupid that he wasn’t going to get out of this with all his bits intact.  Somewhere, the brat was laughing at him.

“Good job with that.  He’s been turning entire cities inside out with his “little tantrums.”  She sneered at him, though a hint of a smile seemed to touch her thin lips, softening them slightly as she took his measure.  While Gaddes had no clue what she meant by that statement, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was best not knowing.  “And he’s likely only going to get more irritating now that he’s fucking a king.  Traitorous little bastard.”  Her tone was at odds with her words, she sounded almost... fond of the brat.  This went far towards his ongoing theory that everyone from that damn country was insane.  “Nice face by the way.”  She noted with a wry smile.  “Those bruises are a day old at least.  Which one of them did that to you?  No… let me guess.  The little king.  Albatou would have been more precise with his blows.  Did you try to separate them?  Give them some priggish lecture about proper manly behaviour?”  She smiled at him knowingly, glancing at him up and down.  “Or were you trying to stick something where it didn’t belong, and the little king caught you?”  The answer must have shown on his face because she chuckled softly in amusement.  It was a rather nerve-wracking sound. “Figures, some things never change.”

“Look lady!”  Oh, he was using that term VERY loosely here.  Honestly, she was more vulgar than any three members of the Crusade crew deep in their cups.  “Those are friends of mine!”  At least, he hoped they were still friends… likely not considering how much his face still hurt, but none of them had run him through, so perhaps there was some way to build back what had been lost. 

“You want respect from me, you earn it.”  She replied, then turned to look down at Allen, her cold eyes noting the damages to his body, the breathing tube, the missing leg.  “He’s earned it.  For all his pig-headed stupidity, he’s shown that he’s a good and strong man, a warrior in his heart.  He’ll walk again, I swear it on my son’s blood, because that bastard owes me a fight.”  Despite her cold words, she gently brushed some stray locks of hair on the pillow, they looked a little shorter than the rest of his hair, like it had been cut recently. 

Though he pretended not to, Gaddes watched her out of the corner of his eye, studying this strange woman.  When Dialndau had spoken of warrior women, he had pictured something along the lines of those cat sisters.  Strong, sexy and wearing skin tight leathers.  This woman was certainly strong, but she was more terrifying than sexy and she wore a simple nondescript outfit which could have fit in any country with its sheer utilitarian simplicity.  It likely was also great for hiding all sorts of weapons out of sight, ready to be wielded at a moment’s notice.  He couldn’t imagine this woman having a child, but he supposed that if she did, it would definitely be one of Dilandau’s little minions, happily burning the countryside and terrorizing the populace wherever they went.

“Which one was it?”  Gaddes asked after a few moments of tense silence.  “You said your son was one of the Dragonslayers.  Which one?”  She glanced over at him; her eyes wary.  It was almost an identical expression to Dilandau’s the night he’d asked the Brat about them.

“Dallet.”  She replied turning away from him, focussing back on Allen.  “His name was Dallet.”

“He was the mechanical genius, right?”  That caught her attention, causing her to look at him again, confusion flickering through her eyes.  “Dilandau would talk about them with me sometimes.  Dallet… he had shoulder length hair, was really good with electronics and really liked the ladies from what I hear.”  He offered her a slight smile, privately pleased that he’d remembered that much from their talks.  His pleasure grew a little more when she nodded her head guardedly, something akin to a shadow of respect shining in the depths of her eyes.  It wasn’t much, but he’d take what he could get at this point.

“Yes… he was brilliant with machines.  They’d always fascinated him.”

“The kid misses him… he still yells out his name in his nightmares.  Your son… all of them, they meant the world to him.”

“He’d better.  His foolish pride and vendetta got them all killed.” She snapped, then closed her eyes for a moment.  “Thank you though.  It’s good to know that he’ll be remembered.”  Now was likely not the time to mention that he was still lurking around as a homicidally loyal ghost, murdering his way across the land at his leader’s orders.

They sat again in silence, both staring down at Allen, as if trying to will him to open his eyes, but to no avail.  The only sounds in the room were from the machines, and Gaddes wasn’t even sure if the woman was breathing.  She might as well have been a statue for all she moved.  It was damn unnerving, but he wasn’t about to say anything.  It just didn’t sound safe.

“I will leave you two in peace.”  She finally broke the silence, straightening up and giving Allen one last look.  “I have reports to sort through and security to analyze, not to mention there is a certain unruly crew lounging around in one of the hangars and being obnoxious.  I trust there will be no problems from them?”

There was no need for her to ask the question, he could hear it loud and clear.  Were they going to attempt to take Allen by force?  Was this tenuous truce they’d established in this room going to erupt into bloodshed?  There really was only one viable answer.

“No… no trouble.”  He replied, looking back at his leader, realizing just how foolish their “rescue attempt” had been from the very beginning.  Teo was definitely owed one huge apology, and likely a few drinks for being the only one of them with half a brain.

Giving him a terse nod, acknowledging his reply, she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.  The door hissing quietly shut behind her.  Only once she left did the tension in the room ease and Gaddes took a deep breath, fully aware of how closely it all could have ended for them all.

Glancing down at Allen, who still lay there, blissfully unaware of the standoff which had just happened above him, Gaddes gave him a rueful smile.

“Boss, I gotta say.  You make the strangest friends… but I think in a weird way, I kinda like her.”

 

 

 

               It was so cold in the darkness, it soothed the terrible burning which had eaten him up inside, burning away his body, his mind… his entire existence.  The fire in his soul guttered low, barely a glow as the shadows rolled in, all but smothering it, and in those shadows, dark wings spread wide.

 _“Ahh, young one.”_   The voice crooned softly in his ear.  It sounded so gentle, so loving, He found himself leaning into it and feeling the cool brush of ashen wings brush against his aching flesh.  It was so tender, so protective that he could feel something deep inside himself relaxing.  The voice was comforting and familiar.  He’d heard it before long ago, but it had been buried in the holes of his mind, laying in wait for him to remember.

“Who are you?”  He asked, his voice echoing in the emptiness as he strained to look around.  The wings sealed him away protectively, keeping him safe, healing the pain of his burned soul.

 _“We are that which was forgotten, that which was denied so long ago.  Arrogance sought to bury us, pride erased the very memory of us, but death… ahhh, death has set us free.  You have set us free little brother, our beautiful katara.”_   Hands stroked along his arms, their touch gentle, tender and full of worship.

_“Yes, long have we waited, long have we watched, but always we were denied.  Cursed to watch the threads fade one by one, and with them, our chances of rebirth._

_“We’ve called to you, but always you ran, always you denied us, and look at the pain it has brought you.  They haven’t changed, still so cruel, still so lost in their righteous pride, denying us, and in doing so, denying the truth of themselves._

_“Twice now you’ve perched upon the Gates of Death, and twice you’ve refused to see little brother, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t see us.  We always see you.  You are our perfect katara.  Our last beacon in the darkness.”_

“I don’t know what you want!  Let me go!”  Dilandau snapped, striking at the wings around him, nearly overbalancing when they lost cohesion, becoming an insubstantial cloud of ash and allowing him to pass through unharmed.  Spinning around, he tried to catch sight of the speakers, but the darkness was so absolute that it might as well have been a solid wall to his eyes. 

Wings flapped just out of reach, large, and powerful, their feathers catching the air, though there was no accompanying burst of wind which might give him a sense of direction, a hint of where to strike.

_“Still so defiant.  This is good.  You are so strong young one.  Every challenge they throw at you only makes you stronger.  They don’t understand, not as we do.  Over and over the patterns repeat, the river of time twists around on itself.  Patterns within patterns, shapes within shapes.  But always there is us, watching in the darkness.  Waiting as patient as only the dead can be.  Waiting for you.  The Critical Instability, the unknown factor, that which was never meant to be but is.  The Final Curse.”_

“I’m not a curse!”  He snarled defiantly, his hands balling into fists as he struggled to pin down the location of his assailants.  His ability to pinpoint the positions of others, seemed to fail him here.  He couldn’t get his bearings, couldn’t tell up from down, let alone where the speakers were.  Their words echoed through the darkness, flowing around him like water.  “I’m not a curse!”  He repeated, only to hear his voice echo back at him.

 _“Ah, but you are young one, we all are.”_   A new voice crooned softly.  _“We are the darkness to the light, we are the pain to the pleasure.  For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.  Did you not study this?  Were these not the words of your Emperor?”_

“That’s for movement!  The interactions of physical bodies.  Not my life!”  He snarled back, furious at having the words of his great and beloved leader thrown at him.

 _“You fail to see.  You’re blind to the answers within the darkness.  Your eyes do not see because you refuse to open them.  No matter, understanding will come in time.  We are patient, we have all the time in the world.  This world and others.  But do not make us wait too long young katara.”_   Other voices began to whisper in the darkness, their voices echoing around him, adding to his disorientation.

_“Our hunger grows, oh yes, it grows, and the longer it is denied, the greater it will be.”_

_“Feast with us little one, feast upon the bones of the world and grow strong.”_

_“Yes, feast with us, fly with us.  Spread your wings little brother, embrace your destiny.”_

“My destiny is my own!”  He snarled at the voices.  “I will carve my own path through blood and bone if I must, but it will be MY Path!” 

 _“Of course young one.  It will always be your path.”_   The voices grew quiet, satisfied with their answers.  The darkness pulled back and as he looked around, he saw a single shining white feather drifting down.  It shone like a beacon in the darkness and from it, he could sense Van.  Feel his strength, his confidence, his warm and vibrant life.

Scrambling forward, he grabbed onto it and held it tightly to his chest, revelling in the comfort it brought him, even as it pushed the darkness back.

“My own path.”  He murmured softly, closing his eyes.  “My destiny, not some stolen one.  My own.”

 _“Yes young one.”_   The voices whispered up from the depths of his mind.  _“Yours and yours alone.”_

 

On the bed in the darkened room, Dilandau rolled over in his sleep, his arms pulling Van closer, nuzzling into his chest.  Strong dark arms wrapped around him, protectively, neither teen noticing how their feathers shone in the darkness, or how the energist pendant blazed between them brightly enough to cast shadows against the far walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took for friggin ever to write. after spending weeks struggling to get ten pages done, I read it back and realized that it really wasn't going anywhere and was just... flat. Scenes with the Crusade crew should NEVER be flat. So I added Merle and voila! It seemed to work. Suddenly everything just started pouring out again and I ended up writing the majority of the chapter in a little over a week. YAY ME!!!  
> I really enjoyed Gaddes' introspection, his range of moods and the realization that this was going to have to be a group effort... and the group had serious reasons to not trust him now.  
> I honestly have no idea how he and Allen met, Most likely, he was already stationed at Fort Castillo, but I liked the idea of them meeting on the road and travelling together, becoming friends first, then Gaddes sort of assigning himself to the Fort, and no one thinking to argue with him about it. The relationship he seems to have with Allen is deeper than what he's got with the rest of the crew after all, so I figure there was more to the friendship.  
> Gaddes finally got to meet a warrior woman!!! YAY!!!... poor guy.  
> Merle is making friends, taking charge and becoming a little fuzzy force of nature. I can totally see her as the type who decides that they like people respecting them, and having some responsibility and running with it. Woe to whoever gets in her way, and I love her interactions with Ignis and Irma. They will make a truly terrifying trio... quartet once you add the dragon.
> 
> Next Chapter: Our two heroes wake up and immediately cause more trouble! who'd have thought.


	4. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They might be down, but they're not defeated! Our heroes dust themselves off and prepare to take the offensive, but run into problems at home on top of their ones abroad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer looms on the horizon, and with it, the burning season! It will provide an excellent backdrop to my writing to have ashes once again falling from the smoke darkened sky... ugh. Thankfully it's not here yet.  
> Thanks to everyone who've commented or given me kudos. I love hearing from you guys and it's always nice to know that others are enjoying my obsession. ^_^

               “Your Majesty.”  The voice was as unexpected as it was unwelcome and before Van was even fully awake, his sword was in his hand and pointed at the throat of the intruder.

               Blinking the grit of sleep from his eyes, Van stared down the length of his blade into the cool steel grey eyes of Regis, who was smiling calmly despite having death poised less than an inch from his throat.  The king wasn’t sure what aggravated him more, the fact that the other teen didn’t look the least bit worried, or he’d come into his room unbidden.

               “Sorry to wake you like this King Van.”  Regis apologised in a gentle voice, his smile never once wavering.  “I tried knocking several times but you didn’t answer.”

               “That tends to happen when one is asleep.”  The sword remained poised to end the zaibach youth’s life if he so much as blinked the wrong way.  “Which begs the question of why you’re here, in the quarters of a sleeping king without permission.”

               “Sire, if I was going to kill you, I’d have stayed by the door.”  That statement in no way eased Van’s nerves and it must have shown on his face because that damnable friendly smile became rather abashed and apologetic.  “I came to remove the IV from Lord Dilandau.”  He clarified after a moment.  “He should be waking up soon, and I doubt that seeing needles in his arms are going to help him remain calm.”  Alright, that was an understatement and Van couldn’t quite repress a shudder as he glanced down at the sleeping figure next to him on the bed. 

               Celena had shifted back into Dilandau sometime over the last few hours while they’d been asleep and was now curled up in a tight little ball around Van.  Judging by the tangled state of the strange tubing wrapped around his arms, he’d thrashed around through his usual nightmares a few times, and it said a lot about how exhausted Van was that he hadn’t been woken up by either them, or the bone shattering transformation which had taken place against him.

               The sight of needles going into those pale arms twisted his stomach and he could feel a cold sweat break out over his body as memories of agonised screams filled his memories.  Horrible images of electrified cages, of those wide crimson eyes silently begging him for help, of endless raw agony and terror caused him to shudder and the room feel suddenly both too cold, and far too confined.  Closing his eyes in an effort to overcome the terror threatening to well up inside him, Van looked away and nodded his head.

               “Take them out.  I never want to see those damn things again.”

               “Science isn’t your enemy sire.”  Regis pointed out, his voice still irritatingly calm, much like how Van spoke when he was dealing with an irritable Kamata.  It drew some uncomfortable parallels to their situation and belatedly, the young king realized that he still had his sword menacing the strawberry haired teen.

               Though he withdrew the weapon, he didn’t bother to sheathe it.  Instead, it was left next to him on the bed, a blatant warning should the apprentice sorcerer try anything he didn’t like.

               “Science is no different than that sword.”  The zaibach teen continued to push, not moving immediately towards Dilandau.  He hadn’t really gotten a chance to really speak to the king since they’d met, and he was interested in this fascinating figure of near legend.  “Both can protect, they can heal, they can build nations.  Or, as both of us are very much aware, they can kill with absolute and merciless brutality.”  Something haunting flashed behind his eyes for a moment, a brief glimpse of deep pain normally carefully hidden.  It helped remind Van that beneath the smiles and the smoothly spoken words, this was a young man who like them, had seen war, had lost loved ones, and dealt with the brutality of being on the losing side. 

“Swords don’t heal.”  The king countered, only to be met with a widening smile as Regis’ masks snapped back into place.

“Well then, it looks like science comes out ahead.”  Dammit, he really wanted to not like this guy, but there was something so open and friendly about him that it was rather hard not to. 

Still not quite ready to take his eyes off of the intruder, Van leaned back slightly, his fingers reaching over and gently resting on Dilandau’s shoulder, as if to remind himself that the other teen was still there, that he hadn’t been whisked away for some cruel experiment, or worse.  At the feel of his touch, the dragonslayer murmured his name softly and nuzzled a little closer.

“You’re an unusual person Regis Falafell.”  Van finally said, still studying the strange youth, not quite sure what to make of him. 

“I get that a lot.”  The smile grew warmer.  “Really, all I’m trying to do is be what the world needs more of these days.”

“And what’s that?”  Van couldn’t quite keep from asking, curious as to the answer.

“Someone trying to do the right thing.”  The reply wasn’t quite what he was expecting, and it must have shown on his face because the zaibach youth chuckled softly.  “I really do mean it.  Everyone is so fixated on the past.  Past slights, past wounds, past actions.  We can’t move forward if we keep looking behind us.  We’re all on this world together, and there’s so much more beyond us and our little egos.  We’ve barely even begun to explore Gaea, did you know that?”  He asked the king, his voice growing more animated and passionate as he spoke.

“This world is so vast and brilliant, filled with mysteries just waiting to be explored, civilizations to meet, knowledge waiting to be discovered.  All we are, are a tiny cluster of countries set on a vast continent so far beyond the scope of our imaginings.

“We’re isolated by deserts, by oceans and by mountain ranges, but what about beyond that?  We know there’s so much more out there.  So why focus on all these tiny things like a small group of people stuck too long in close confines with each other?  We should be pushing ourselves to learn and grow as a race rather than chew our own tails.”

“The beastkin have as story that once, the humans had tails too, just like them.”  Van ventured, somewhat in awe of the far-reaching goals of this other teen.  “They said that the humans were never satisfied with it though, complaining that it wasn’t as long as the cat kin, or as dexterous as the monkey kin, that it couldn’t help them swim like the dolphin and whale kin, or it wasn’t as bushy as the wolf and dog kin.  They grew angry and bitter the more they thought about all the things they didn’t have until they grew spiteful of their tails and cut them off, because if they couldn’t be perfect, just the way they wanted, then they didn’t want them at all. 

“Afterwards, they showed off their smooth bottoms to the beast kin, proclaiming themselves to be superior and wise for their decision.  It set them above the beasts of land and sea and they called themselves the Lords of Gaea.  But many of the beastkin would occasionally catch them looking behind themselves, lamenting the loss of their once beautiful tails. 

“As the years passed, the humans grew jealous and bitter over their loss.  They blamed the beastkin, claiming that they were tricked, that their tails had been stolen and convincing themselves that once, they’d had tails more beautiful than any other on Gaea.  They would tell their children of the cowardice of those who stole it, and they would in turn tell their children, until none even remembered what exactly had been lost, only that the beastkin were responsible.  So it came to pass that humans considered themselves to truly be above the beasts, they hunted them, drove them off their lands and sold their children into slavery, secure in the knowledge that there were simply taking back what had been stolen so long ago.”  Van smiled softly at the sad story, remembering how his mother had told him that, then dried his tears as she reminded him that they weren’t like the humans, for though they lacked tails, they instead had beautiful wings and had never felt that hot jealousy poison their souls.

Young Van had sword to his mother that he would never be like that, bitter and jealous.  He’d even gone so far as to knot a strip of cloth around his belt and let it drag behind him all day, so he could show the beastkin that he was like them and had a tail too.  It had amused Rhum to no end, encouraging the wolf clan leader to take the precocious prince under his proverbial wing, and teach him how to be a “proper” beast kin.

What had likely started as a playful joke had grown into a true friendship as the wolfman had seen that Van truly meant his words and respected the beast-kin, seeing them as true equals.  While Van was somewhat embarrassed at his no doubt crass and childish attempts to show unity, he didn’t regret it for a moment. 

“I never really thought much over what the beast-kin thought about things.”  Regis admitted after a long moment of thoughtful silence.  “In Zaibach, they’re slaves, not much better than animals really, at least that’s how most see them.  I’m sad to say that I really wasn’t much different, though when I’d heard that Lord Dilandau had partnered with a dog-kin, I was curious.  Even in the throes of madness, he was still a genius when it came to combat, and I knew there would be no way he’d work with or trust an inferior warrior.

“Then Gaddes partnered me with Cassian and damn, that was a wake-up call.  He’s a great guy and a skilled swordsman.  I think he’s one of the most dedicated warriors we have and he’s always training, even in our downtime.  He’s trying so hard to prove that he’s just as good as a human and be accepted, and at first, I thought that it was a noble goal…but after I met Merle, I’m not sure that that’s the best move for him.  There’s something special about the beast-kin, something most of us don’t see.  But you saw it… and Lord Dilandau saw it… is it because you’re not human yourselves?” 

A few colours ago, he’d have snapped at the youth for being so forward with his question.  He’d have taken insult to having his status as a human called into question and likely ended the conversation there and then.  Now, after having his humanity stripped away in the labs, then learning to take pride in his own unique dual nature his opinions of himself had begun to change.  He possessed abilities and features that set himself apart from nearly every other creature in the world and more importantly, he’d learned to accept them.  Now, after all of his trials, the question seemed to be more thoughtful rather than malicious.

“Possibly.”  He hazarded, unsure how to answer.  It was more than a little embarrassing to be revealing the true levels of his ignorance, but in a way, it also felt good, like he was sharing a little of the weight that he and Dilandau bore.  “Neither of us really know what it means to be draconian.  We’re pretty much alone in dealing with all of this and haven’t had much of a chance to sit back and give it much thought.  We’re still learning what we can do… the good, and the bad.  It’s sort of terrifying really.”

Realizing suddenly that he’d revealed far more of himself than he’d intended, Van visibly pulled back, not liking being so open with someone he still barely knew.  ESPECIALLY an apprentice sorcerer.  Really, Regis should be the last person he confided in.

As if sensing the withdrawal, the young lord gave his head a slight nod, quickly switching the topic away from the personal and into realms more current and political.

“Well,”  Regis stated with a faint smile.  “While you were taking a much deserved and needed rest, we’ve received some survivors from the Astorian naval ship Freya in hangar Delta.  The injured are all in the med bay. It appears to be one of the only ships to still have a crew which is mostly intact.  The Navy itself was obliterated.” 

The news was a hard blow and Van found a lump in his throat at the thought of all  those lives just so callously thrown away.  Closing his eyes for a moment, he did his best to not think about just how badly it really could have gone. 

The bomb… it would have ended everything… everyone.  All of Astoria would have been wiped out in a flash of light, leaving only a crater filled with molten blackened glass.  How could anyone do such a thing or create a weapon like that?  It was already horrifying enough to drop such a monstrous device on the battlefield, slaughtering friend and foe alike.  The act itself had only been excused because of the heat of battle and the enormity of the stakes should they lose… but this.  Dropping the bomb on a city filled with innocents just waking up to greet the day.  Elders, women, children… people who were no threat to them at all!

“How…”  The words choked in his throat.  Licking his lips, he tried again to speak.  “How many dead?”

“Sire, you should be resting, not worrying over that which can’t be changed….”  Regis tried to argue gently but Van flashed him a murderous glare.

“How. Many.”  He ground out the words, needing to know, as if some nebulous number would somehow help him understand this atrocity.  The zaibachi teen deflated slightly, unable and unwilling to stand against the king.

“We’ve estimated nearly five hundred dead and countless injured.”  Regis mumbled softly.  “The number will grow over the next few days as we sort through the rubble or survivors succumb to their injuries.  We’re doing all we can up here, but even we can’t stop the inevitable.”

Five hundred… and the number growing.  Van felt sick, he felt dizzy, as if the walls were closing in.  It was Fanelia all over again.  Castillo, Freid… innocent people dying for no reason other than the cause of a madman.  This couldn’t go on.  Gaea couldn’t handle another senseless war.

“Sire… I need to remove the needles before Lord Dilandau wakes up.”  Regis hedged gently, making no move to approach while that sword was still within easy reach.  “May I do so?”  Barely aware of the words being spoken to him, Van nodded his head, still trying to digest what he’d been told. 

Five hundred lives snuffed out.  Lost.  Their previous victory in the Destiny War felt almost hollow now.  They’d barely even had a chance to breathe a sigh of relief before this new nightmare was upon them.  Dammit, it just wasn’t fair!

With dull eyes, he watched the apprentice sorcerer gently pull the spikes of metal out of Dilandau’s veins and press a soft cloth against the wound firmly.

“Sire, if you could hold this in place.  I believe he’d much prefer to see your face upon waking than mine.”  Still numb, Van did as he was told, taking great comfort in feeling the strong pulse beating beneath his fingertips.  Each beat confirmed the life he’d fought so hard and so long to save, the life he’d very nearly lost this morning.

That pulse became his focus and Van found himself losing all sense of time and he drank it in, drawing strength from it and promising to protect every precious second of his lover’s life.

It was likely half an hour before Dilandau mumbled softly in his sleep, his pale brow furrowing as his legs gave a little kick.  Nightmares again, but Van was familiar enough to know that they were just beginning and hadn’t fully taken hold of the dragonslayer’s psyche.

“Dilandau.”  He whispered gently, running his fingers through that soft silken hair.  “Hey, wake up, you crazy bastard.”  There was a smile in his words, the fondness in his tone turning the insult into a term of endearment and he was rewarded with seeing those pale lashes fluttering for a moment before opening.  Brilliant crimson eyes the colour of rich wine stared into his, open and unguarded, drinking in the sight of the dark king and revelling in every detail.

“Van.”  The Dragonslayer breathed, reaching up with his own hand and stroking the king’s dark locks and pulling him down into a deep kiss.  Not that Van objected, he drank in the heat of those lips, the slick pleasure of his tongue and the way Dilandau’s breath fluttered with pleasure before he slowly pulled away.  “Ugh, you need a bath pigeon.”  He grimaced weakly.  “Abd your hair is more of a mess than usual.”

“Yeah, that’s gratitude for you.”  Van couldn’t help but chuckle, catching that stray hand in his and kissing the palm.  “See if I carry you back to bed ever again.”

For a moment, Dilandau looked puzzled at the comment, then he sat up so suddenly that he nearly flattened Van’s nose with his forehead.

“Schezar!”   Wide eyes searched the room, trying to find the injured knight.  “Allen!  Where is he?  Is he alright?”  Gently placing his hands on Dilandau’s shoulders, Van carefully pressed him back down into the pillows.  It said a lot about how weak the pale teen was in the fact that he barely fought the act, allowing himself to fall back onto the soft pillow with little more than an irritated whine.  “Is Allen alright?  Did it work?”

“It worked.”  Van smiled down at him.  “I’m going to kick your ass later for you and Celena pulling a stunt like that without warning me, but… it worked.”  The look of relief which filled Dilandau’s face was almost heart-wrenching considering what he had to say next.  “He’s stable, but he’s not out of the woods yet.  A lot of things can still go wrong, but at least there’s hope.”

“Fuck hope.”  Those beautiful eyes narrowed dangerously and Dilandau snarled, struggling to sit back up and growing even angrier when his body refused to obey him.  After so many colours of constant abuse, it had finally had enough.  “We can heal him!  Right now, we could heal him!  We’ll do that thing where we merge or link power or whatever it is we do and heal them all!”

“Sir, with all due respect, if you try anything like that, I will personally knock you out.”  Regis spoke up, causing both teens to jump and Van to blush hotly in embarrassment.  In his narrow-minded focus, he’d totally forgotten that he wasn’t alone.  Dilandau on the other hand had the totally opposite reaction and he looked ready to kill.

“How DARE you threaten me!”  His voice didn’t have the strength behind it to quality as a scream, but it wasn’t for lack of effort on Dilandau’s part.  “I will skin you alive and make it into a cloak for my guymelef!”  Van couldn’t help but smile at the threat, remembering when the captain had threatened to do that with any of the surviving sorcerers he could find.  It was impressive that even exhausted, his mind could still hold onto the little details of his mental revenge scenarios… and a little terrifying.

“Firstly sir, human flesh wouldn’t work well with the stealth technology, the cellular structure simply isn’t compatible.  Secondly, you barely have the strength to hold your head up.  As your medical officer, I refuse to allow you to put that much strain on your system.”

“My Medical officer!?”

“Yes, and as your Medical officer, it’s my place to inform you that your body is already suffering from the severe strain you’ve put it through and that little body swap thing you did, while helpful to Sir Allen, put even more stress on your organs.  Every system is struggling to remain functioning properly, your vitals are concerning and if you try to funnel any more fate energy through yourself, you’ll not only put your own life at risk, but likely every living thing on this ship.  So then, I will repeat myself.  If you try to pull any crazy draconian magic, I will knock you out before you can so much as alter the fate of a fruit fly.  Do I make myself clear sir?”

“Van.”  Dilandau sounded far too calm and the king knew that the explosion was imminent.

“Yes Dilandau?”  He replied, doing his best to humour the other man.

“Give me your sword.  I’m going to run this little traitor through.”  Predictability and spitefulness?  Thy name was Dilandau.

“No you’re not.  He’s making sense.”

“No he’s not!  I’m not weak and I’m going to fix Allen!”  Adding stubborn to his list, Van kept a restraining hand on the dragonslayer’s shoulder, preventing his struggles from achieving any level of success.  He also made sure the sword was nowhere within reach.

Not looking at all surprised or upset over the imminent threat of death hanging over his head, Regis instead presented a large wooden tray bearing several small clay pots on it.  They were of beast-kin design and Van was rather sure he’d seen them in Mura’s tent not too long ago.  The apprentice sorcerer turned medical officer must have placed it on the bedside table while he’d spoken to Van. 

“Mura, that old wolf medic made these for you both to drink.”  He presented them both with a clay pot and Van couldn’t help but notice that they were still nice and piping hot.  Small stone lids kept the heat in, but he could smell medicinal broth inside.  “He said you’d better drink them if you know what’s good for you and that you’re supposed to make sure that Nakahi follows his orders.  I’m going to guess he’s meaning Lord Dilandau.”

“Mind yourself private.”  Dilandau growled, struggling to sit up once more and batting Van’s hand away when he tried to help.  “I can sit up my damn self!”  Rather than waste the time or energy fighting him, Van put his cup back on the tray for a moment, then reached over and just hauled the obstinate teen up into place, ignoring the ineffectual slaps he received for his efforts.  “I’m fine! Leave me alone!  I don’t need to be coddled!”

“Shut up, you’re sitting up and that’s what matters, now drink your medicine.”  For a long moment, the two glared at each other neither wanting to accept defeat while Regis just looked at them both, wondering if he should perhaps take a prudent step back.  “Do you really want to disappoint Mura?”  Van finally asked with a poisonously sweet smile, fully aware of the esteem the dragonslayer held for the old wolf.

“Low blow Fanel.”  Dilandau grumbled as he snatched the small clay cup off the tray and pulled off the lid. 

“Yeah, well I learned from the best.”  That earned the king an inelegant snort as Dilandau shot him a sidelong look, then frowned slightly as he noticed how numb his fingers felt.  Letting go of the cup with one hand, he looked down at the reddened skin on his fingers, wiggling them slightly. 

“What’s wrong with my hands?”  His voice was tight as he struggled to hold his temper in check.  The idea of losing feeling in his hands was terrifying.  The controls of his Oreades were hair trigger and required the lightest of touches.  Delicacy was just as important as coordination and if he couldn’t feel every little movement and respond properly, he might as well just cut his hands off for all the use they’d be.  “Why can’t I feel things properly?”

“It’s alright!”  Regis quickly replied, holding up a third little pot and removing the lid, showing them all the oily looking paste inside.  “This medicine numbs the pain.  We have to rub it into your burns regularly for the next twenty-four hours and let it soak into the skin.  Mura said that it will speed up the healing process and shouldn’t leave any scarring.” 

“Scarring!?”  He shot Van an accusing look.

“Oh, don’t you dare blame me for this one.”  Van shot back without hesitation.  “You’re the idiot who grabbed onto a damn energist bomb with your bare hands!” 

“Well, I didn’t see you doing anything constructive at the time.”  Dilandau replied, calming down enough to sniff cautiously at the contents of his tea, trying to identify the ingredients within. 

Wormroot, ganges seed, yarrow fruit and some tangy Zanzu leaves.  All things that would help build his system back up and deliver a power shot of vitamins.  There were a few other things he wasn’t familiar with but trusted the beast-kin healer enough to drink it.  He also trusted his nose enough to pick out any poisons that Regis might have spiked it with.

A few sips had a delicious heat seeping into his body.  He hadn’t realized how cold he’d felt until now, and with a pleased sigh, he took a longer drink, noting that Van was doing the same.

“Remind me to thank Mura for this.”  He murmured into his cup, noting Van’s nod of agreement.  One of the ingredients had to be a relaxant, because he felt a warm lassitude fill him, numbing his mind to the stress he was under and making him want to curl back up under the covers with Van.

“You can thank him when you wake back up.”  Regis stated.  “You both need more sleep if you’re going to avoid getting sick from exhaustion.”

“If you poisoned me… so help me.  I’ll gut you where you stand.”  Dilandau set his now empty cup down and looked around for the sword with eyes which were growing heavier by the moment.

“I thought you were going to skin me sir.”

“Semantics.  Give me your sword so I can kill you.”  He was sinking back down into the bed, Van mumbling something about not stabbing people in bed even as he curled up around Dilandau, already drifting off into unconsciousness.

“It’s not poison sir.  You’ll feel better when you wake up.  I promise you.”  Regis smiled at him gently as darkness claimed the dragonslayer.

 

It was dark and quiet inside the room, warm air spoke of the heating system coming back online and Dilandau smiled slightly at the feel of Van curled up in his arms, snoring softly.  Beneath that, he could feel the soft hum of the powerful engines of the fortress, a familiar lullaby which eased some of the ever-present tension from his body and mind.  He was home.

He’d almost forgotten what such a thing had felt like.  Ever since Miguel had been taken from the field of battle, nothing had felt right.  Now, it was as if a dislocated joint had been snapped back into place and there was a tangible sense of relief inside him.

It was odd really.  He should be climbing the walls with energy by now.  There was a new enemy to fight after all.  People who’d hurt those under his protection, who’d nearly killed him… actually, on deeper reflection, they likely had killed him, at least for a few moments before Van’s will had brought him back.

Glancing down, he stared at the fingers on his hand, still raw looking and numb from grabbing onto the energist bomb.  Alright, so Van had had a point.  It likely hadn’t been his most strategically brilliant moment, but it had worked.  At least, he was pretty sure it had.  His memories were rather fragmented regarding the entire ordeal.  He remembered the raw burning agony tearing through him.  It had hurt worse than any of the madoushi experiments or even the change into Celena.  All of his previous injuries paled in comparison to the sensation of burning up on an anatomical level and he shivered slightly.  Of all the things to remember clearly, it figured that he’d remember that.

His heart had been on fire, searing him from the inside out as one by one, his organs had cooked themselves to ash.  Still, all he’d seen was Van’s face.  All he’d cared about were those beautiful dark eyes staring into his, filled with horror and loss, refusing to accept what he was seeing, refusing to allow it to happen.  No one had ever looked at him like that, with such ferocity and devotion.  It was hardly surprising that Van had found a way to drag him back from the brink and kept him alive long enough for his body to accept the fact that it was still bound to this world.

“Hmph, stubborn pigeon.”  He murmured gently, kissing that dark mop of eternally messy hair and smiling.  “You never could accept the inevitable.  I suppose I owe you for that one.”  Van grunted softly in response and nuzzled his shoulder, one dark skinned arm reached around him, pulling the two of them closer and drawing out a gentle smile from the fierce warlord.

“You’ve come a long way My Starlight.”  A gentle voice spoke from the end of the bed and Dilandau looked up, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the specter of a thirteen-year-old youth standing there, looking over at them with a gentle smile.  Like himself, the boy was uncommonly beautiful, even with the colours washed out from his form, it was still obvious that he’d once had vibrant red hair and eyes of blazing sunlight gold.  They’d fit beautifully with the warm tan of his skin and even now, Dilandau’s heart ached to see him.

“You won.”  There was pride in the specter’s voice, and it seemed to shine through him.  “Despite their best efforts, you finally won.”

“I killed you.”  The dragonslayer replied, his voice little more than a whisper.  “You were the only murder I ever regretted, even though they wiped you from my mind… I think a part of me still knew that I’d done something terrible.”  All of those nights waking up, screaming for something precious that had been lost, feeling that empty void inside him, yawning wide and begging to be filled.  He’d tried so hard to fill it, with alcohol, with sex, with an ocean of blood, but it was never sated.  Deep down inside the darkest depths of his soul, he’d known that he’d had something so precious that it had been beyond value… and he’d destroyed it.

“You didn’t kill me.”  The youth stated, his voice so tender and gentle, the way it had rarely been in life.  His Sun had been a cruelly sharp blade, cutting down everything in his path with words, with weapons, with a heart melting smile.  He’d been so beautifully merciless that even back then, surrounded by nothing but blood and horror, it had stolen his breath away.

“You were the instrument of my death, but not my killer.  That was your Master.  You were as powerless as I was against their machinations.  One of us was to die that day for our Master’s pride, and I couldn’t let it be you.”

“Why?  I never understood why you would refuse the order, why would you spare that child?  They meant nothing to us.  We were supposed to be free!  You and I… we’d won!  We were the best.”  His voice rose despite himself and he could feel his heart aching as if being squeezed in an iron fist as he stared at his first lover, the boy who’d shown him a brief island of happiness in a lifetime of pain and terror.

“We were never to be free.  That’s a lie and you know it.”  The youth shot back, a hint of an edge to his voice which was oddly heartwarming to hear.  “We were pawns in a game neither of us understood.  I was supposed to kill you that day, I was the bait in a trap that not even you could resist.  Your doom was already assured, but I couldn’t do it.”

“What do you mean?”  Crimson eyes narrowed as their old rivalry reared its ugly head.  “I was the superior specimen.  I tested higher in every challenge!  You might have been my only competition, but don’t get ahead of yourself.  You were never the best.” 

“You might have been the superior speciman, I’ll give you that.” The specter admitted with a smile like a knife edge.  “But you were deeply flawed.”  The smile softened as Dilandau bristled at the insult to his perfection.  “I know because my Master ensured it.”

“Her life is currently in my hands, so choose your words well or she’ll be joining you on the Paths of the Dead.”  Rather than retreat at the threat, the specter chuckled softly, enjoying a private joke.  Unused to not having his threats taken seriously, Dilandau bristled even more.

“Do you think I won’t do it?”

“Oh, I have no doubt you would, just to spite me, even though it would cost your brother his life.”  Still, the specter didn’t look nearly as concerned as it should.  “Enjoy your victory My Starlight.  It was hard won, but it’s yours and even she realizes that as much as she recognizes her own hand in it.”

“You never minced words in life, Stop doing it in death.  Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Always so suspicious, so ready to go for the throat.  I loved that about you.”  The youth smiled and turned away.  “I loved so many things about you, but mostly, I love that you continued on after my death. You defied the odds My Starlight.  Despite all of your Master’s planning and control, you found a way to finally win.”

“Where are you going?!”  Dilandau demanded, ready to leap out of the bed, grab the damn spirit and beat it until it made sense.  Instead, he was simply given a rather heart meltingly sad smile.

“I’m returning to the Paths of the Dead.”  The specter replied gently.  “I don’t wish for you to see me die again.  You don’t deserve that.”

“Why now?”  Dilandau stared at the youth, not ready to end the conversation, though inwardly dreading the thought of once again seeing that beautiful face torn apart, that perfect body shredded and knowing it was his own hand that had done it.  “After all these years, why show up now?”  The specter paused and looked at him with sad fondness.

“Because you’re finally ready to understand.”  With that, he walked through the wall, hiding away his last few agonizing hours of death from his killer, leaving Dilandau alone once more.  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, refusing to let his emotions take over. 

“That was him wasn’t it?”  Van asked softly, making the dragonslayer jump slightly in shock.  “The boy in that sorcerer’s locket? The one from the files?”  Still not opening his eyes, Dilandau nodded his head, focussing on keep his breathing calm and even.  He wasn’t going to weep over lost lovers like some forlorn girl mooning over her first crush.  He was a warrior dammit!

“Yeah… it was him.”

“He was more than just a friend wasn’t he.”  Opening his eyes, he could see Van looking at him from where he still lay, tucked in close, their limbs intimately entangled with each other.  There was no accusation in his eyes or his voice, just a simple curiosity, the desire to learn more about each other and Dilandau couldn’t stop the words from coming.

“He was my first love.  I didn’t even know what love was, what friendship was… he was…home.”  Taking a deep breath, he once again ran his fingers through Van’s hair.  “We were the two top specimens in the experiment and always competed against each other.  I always scored just a little higher, but he made me work for it every single time.  All the specimens were supposed to hate each other.  That was part of their grand plan, having us pick each other off whenever we sensed the slightest hint of weakness.  We were so eager to please them that we took to the task with relish.  In fact, we were so damn ruthless that we’d often engineer that weakness in others, setting them up, ganging up on them… we were monsters to each other.”  His voice grew distant as he pulled his knees up to his chest, hugging them as he remembered those terrible years filled with torture and terror, knowing that he could be killed at any time, and not knowing if that would be a blessing or curse.

“We were never supposed to be allies, certainly never friends.  We didn’t even know what a friend was, and if you’d tried to explain it to us, we’d have sneered at you… but, I think we were.”  Frowning slightly, Dilandau tried to chase down the elusive memories as they did their best to slip away into the darkness of his subconscious mind once more.  Hearing the strain in his husband’s voice, Van shifted closer, gently wrapping an arm around those slender yet powerful shoulders, pulling Dilandau against him and letting him know that he wasn’t alone.

“We were young, full of energy and stuck in an army full of stupid old men.  Fucking them wasn’t any fun, so it was only natural that we found our way into each other’s beds. 

“At first it was just fucking away the frustration of it all.  We weren’t allowed to kill each other at this point in the experiment, but we could certainly find other ways to force dominance on each other, and we were rather ruthless in that regard… but over time, something changed.  I couldn’t even tell you when, it all happened so gradually.”  Opening his eyes, Dilandau looked over at where he’d seen the specter of his long lost first love and imagined staring into those impossibly golden eyes once more.

“We became lovers I suppose.  Neither of us knew what the word meant, nor had any clue of what it was that we were feeling.  No one had ever mattered to us before.  Do you have any idea what that’s like?  Being surrounded by people but not caring at all?  Not even understanding the concept of feeling something for another living being and knowing that at any moment, anyone could be ordered to take your life.  Worse, knowing that they’d carry it out without a pause, and so would you.  No thought about mercy, or morality.  We were just things to each other… and to ourselves.  It took nearly a year before Gatti got me to stop referring to myself as a thing.  I still do sometimes when I’m stressed… in a way, it was easier, knowing that I was just a weapon.”

Van couldn’t help but shudder at those words, remembering how it had felt to be so utterly dehumanized by Shroden and Tseng.  How powerless he’d felt, how isolated.  He couldn’t even imagine growing up like that or what it would do to a person over time.  The fact that Dilandau had any sense of self at all was nothing short of a miracle and he thanked whatever god had been looking out for the pale youth.

“You are someone Dilandau.”  Van replied softly, gently cupping the dragonslayer’s chin and tilting his head so they could look at each other eye to eye.  “You have a name.  You have people who care deeply for you… who love you.”    He couldn’t resist a somewhat playful smile as he leaned forward and gently kissed those soft lips.  “And if memory serves, there’s someone you love as well.”

“Hmph, low blow using what I said when I thought I was about to die against me.”  Dilandau huffed grumpily, though there was no bite behind his words and a slight smile tugged at his lips.  “I’d just figured that if I was going to sacrifice my life like some stupid hero in a minstrel tale, that I should just embrace the trope.  It seemed fitting enough.”

“Ah, so you just wanted me to mourn you properly like a good widower?”

“Fucking right.  I expected to you to rend your clothes, wail in torment, then shave your head and fast for thirty days while you meditated on the colour of my eyes or some crap like that.”  It was hard for Van to refrain from snickering at that image.

“You do realize that we don’t do that in Fanelia right?”  He couldn’t resist smiling a little wider at Dilandau’s suspicious look.  “We’ll fast until the body is buried, but there’s no reason for us to shave our heads… seems like a rather pointless gesture.  Rending the clothes is optional.”

“Fucking Folken lied to me.  Here I was picturing all these bald and naked fanelians shaking their fists at me and swearing eternal vengeance.  Way to kill the mood Van.”

“There was a mood?”  The young king asked, unable to hold onto any righteous rage at the crude joke aimed at his country’s darkest hour.  He knew the dragonslayer well enough to know when such comments were intended to wound, and when they were simply a display of his lack of any real understanding of empathy.

“Fucking right there was a mood!  I was the damn sacrificial hero!  I gave my life to save the stupid city and its mouth breathing inhabitants.  Not that they’ll ever admit it.  Aren’t I supposed to get a kiss or a blowjob or something?  That’s how all these stupid stories end.  I demand my happy ending.”  Reaching out with one of his hands, he grabbed a fistful of Van’s hair and pulled him into a deep kiss.  Those pale lips were hot, hungry and devoured the king’s mouth with a wild passion that left Van tingling right down to his toes as he melted into it.

For several long minutes, they eagerly explored each other’s mouths as if it was the first time and every touch made them shiver with growing anticipation.  Van could practically feel his wings humming deep within his body, eager to spring free.  Rather than give into the temptation, he instead pulled the beautiful albino closer, wrapping him up in his arms so that they were chest to chest, their hearts beating in perfect unison as their feather pendants pulsed between them.

“So…”  He murmured against those perfect lips when they finally broke for air.  “If you’re the great hero, what does that make me?”  Shining crimson eyes stared into his, filled with equal portions of mischief and desire.  Those perfect lips gently brushed his as they curved into a wicked smile.

“The rescued princess?”  Hmph, he should have expected that, and he mock glared at Dilandau as the dragonslayer tried rather unsuccessfully to smother his rather inelegant snickers.  Two could play at that game.

“Hardly.  I’m the hero king who dragged you back from the Paths of the Dead.  Now, you are mine.  The Queen of Fanelia.”  The look on Dilandau’s face was worth any punishment and Van laughed as he ducked the blow aimed at his nose, rolling out of the way of the other pale hand which snaked out to grab him and hold him still for the expected throttling.

When properly motivated, Van proved that he could move rather quickly, and he deftly avoided the next few attempts to grab at him as Dilandau snarled obscenities at him.  Granted, after the day’s misadventures, he was in much better shape than the dragonslayer, and he could see that the albino was already beginning to tire.  Still, tiring wasn’t giving up and the chase continued for several wild minutes as it took them through around the bedroom several times, vaulting over furniture haphazardly before racing into the sitting room.  They nearly knocked over one of the chairs and Van rolled over the desk sending several stacks of papers into wild disarray before tearing back into the bedroom, his former nemesis hot on his heels.

It was almost reminiscent of the war, one running while the other loudly gave chase, shouting curses and threats the whole time.  Though, hopefully this one would most likely have a much more pleasant ending if he had anything to say about it.  Still, it did make him shiver and pause as the memories of much darker times flickered through his mind.

Taking advantage of the king’s momentary lapse in attention, Dilandau swept Van’s feet out from under him, sending him falling backwards onto the bed.  Before the darker teen could catch himself, he was pinned beneath Dilandau’s weight.  Crimson eyes stared into his from less than an inch away and Van couldn’t help but be mesmerized at the many shades and colours found within the depths of that beautiful stare.  How many people, he wondered, had ever gotten this close to the fierce youth and survived.  It was rather like staring into the eyes of a dragon… and about as safe.

“You hesitated, why?”  Dilandau growled softly, unsatisfied with a victory which wasn’t fully won by his own skill and prowess.  There was no glory in defeating someone who’s head wasn’t in the game.  “Where’s your mind at?”

Van, for his part stared for a more moments into those beautiful eyes before focusing on the face which surrounded them… a face which was both wary and leaning towards irritated over not having his question immediately answered.

“Sorry… I was thinking.”

“Ah, and you can’t think and run at the same time?  Hardly surprising I suppose.”  Dilandau drawled, the edge of his mouth quirking up into a faint smirk. 

Rather than retaliate with a witty barb, Van instead reached up and gently traced the scar along Dilandau’s cheek, causing the other teen to freeze.  No one touched his scar!  Not even his dragonslayers had dared to do so!

“What would have happened if I hadn’t given you this?”  He asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  Dilandau continued to stare down at him, still rigid with shock, his jaw clenched so tightly that the king could feel the muscle quivering beneath his hand, but neither pulled away.

“I’d have killed you.”  Dilandau replied matter of factly.  “Neither of us were overly predisposed towards letting the other live.  Blood being spilled was inevitable.” 

“Do you think Folken planned it that way?  He gave me the sword moment’s before you attacked me.  Did he want me to kill you?  For us to fight?  For me to take you prisoner?  Or was it just him giving me the damn sword back?”

“Psh, It’s Folken, who the fuck knows.”  Dilandau caught Van’s hand in his and rather than pulling it away, instead pressed it against his cheek more firmly, closing his eyes as he focussed on the sensation of hands not his own touching the foul brand.  “I dreamed about you ever night after that… as if by marking me, you’d linked us together by blood.  I couldn’t get you out of my mind… I didn’t want to.”  Drawing in a great shuddering breath, he opened his eyes, staring deep into Van’s, seeming to look right through him and into some hitherto unknown depths of his soul.  Dilandau had always had the most unsettling stare, but Van couldn’t break that gaze.  To him, it was beautiful.

“I think that in that act, our fates changed… they joined together somehow.”  He said at last.  Like Van, his voice was a whisper, barely stirring the air between them.  “Up until then, there’d always been a little part of me fixated on him.  Likely a holdover of some sort of stupid conditioning.  I was his weapon, his tool to use as he pleased… but after that.  All that mattered was you.  You were my focus, my lure.  Him?  He was just another obstacle in my way.”

“And now?”  Van couldn’t help but ask, wanting to hear the proud dragonslayer admit to what he’d said back when their world almost ended. 

“Well, now he’s dead, so hardly a problem.”  Dilandau huffed airily, pulling away from Van’s touch and smirking down at him.  “And a well-deserved death from what I hear.  Fucking traitor.  He just couldn’t pick a side could he?  Had to play his little games setting everyone against each other.  Hmph, say what you want about me, but at least MY loyalty was never in question.”

“No, just your sanity.”

“Nonsense, that was never in question either.  Everyone just assumed I was a psychotic little monster, and who was I to change their minds?”

“That’s not something to be proud of you know.”  Van met Dilandau’s wry smile with one of his own before leaning up and kissing those cruel lips gently.

“Mmmm I don’t know.”  The dragonslayer murmured softly, his eyes drifting closed as he stole a kiss of his own.  “It seems to be working for me.”  Strong calloused fingers tangled in Van’s hair, holding him close as the kiss deepened, silencing any further conversation as the two began to slowly explore each other’s bodies.

Familiarity helped them know exactly where to touch and how, but exhaustion kept each caress gentle and slow, drawing out what was usually a frenzy of passion and Van couldn’t help but love every minute of it.  He couldn’t believe all the different ways one could make love, how each one could feel so breathtakingly perfect that it almost brought tears to his eyes.  The bawdy tales told by the Crusade crew didn’t hold a candle to this brilliant shining pleasure and he knew that he would never find a more perfect state of being than this.

Soft breathless cries welcomed him into Dilandau’s body as they rocked against each other, moving like the gentle swelling of the sea.  Both were too tired for anything more enthusiastic, but to Van, this was just as perfect as wild rutting and games of dominance.  This was a perfect sharing of flesh, a true union of body and soul.  Their hearts beat in perfect synchronism, their breaths were one, and he could feel Dilandau’s slowly building pleasure coupling with his own allowing them to experience something so much greater than before.

He felt like slowly swelling lava.  Hot, heavy and unstoppable.  Sliding deeper into that tight heat, feeling Dilandau’s pulse surround him so intimately, sensing every tremor of his body both physically and mentally, it was the closest thing to finding the heavens as he could imagine.  There was no longer a need to touch the stars, because he had his own down here in his arms.

Their climax, when it tore through them drained them both down to their very cores, leaving them breathless and dizzy.  Unable to move a single muscle, they lay sprawled on the bed, limbs tangled hopelessly with each other and giggling like children, giddy on their own endorphins.  

Van couldn’t imagine a better way to end a terrible and nightmarish day and as he pulled his already drowsing lover closer, he faintly heard the dragonslayer whispering to him.

“Meant it you know.  Stupid pigeon.  Meant every word.”  He didn’t know if Dilandau was awake or dreaming, or even if he was referring to some imagined conversation, but Van couldn’t help but grin in euphoric delight.

“I love you too, you crazy bastard.”  He replied, gently kissing the scar he’d cut into his lover’s face, then nuzzling into that silken soft hair and closing his eyes.

 

A loud and rather obnoxious pounding on the door woke then both up after what felt like mere moments later, sending each youth grabbing for their respective swords before they’d even fully roused, both expecting an attack.

“Your Majesty!  I demand an explanation!” 

“My Lord!  You can’t just barge in there!  Lord Van is sleeping.”  Merle’s voice was easy enough to place, filled with equal parts concern and frustration, though Van was having a bit of trouble with the first speaker. 

“Friend of yours?”  Dilandau asked wryly, sliding out of the bed and into a more defensible position, weapon at the ready.  Neither had bothered grabbing clothes.  Their lives were far more important than their modesty and both were still too paranoid to believe that they were truly safe, even deep within the heart of their floating fortress.  The yelling certainly didn’t help to settle their nerves.  While Dilandau might not understand the words, he certainly understood the tone of voice, and it didn’t bode well at all.

“If he’s trying to beat down the door, he’s more likely yours.”  Van replied, the Royal Blade of Fanelia brandished in front of him.  There was no mistaking the amused chuckle from the other side of the bed, though the king didn’t dare take his eyes off the door to see the expression on the dragonslayer’s face. 

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should know this voice, that he’d heard it hundreds of times in the past.  After everything he’d been through lately, his brain simply wasn’t in the mood to help him.  In fact, it was a great proponent of just curling back up in bed and going back to sleep.  Honestly, it felt as if he’d only been asleep for a few minutes.  Even the damn sword felt heavy in his hands!

“Your Majesty!  Open this door this instant!” 

“Oh crap.”  He groaned and felt Dilandau’s attention shift to him.  His brain had finally begun processing information and allowed him to recognize the speaker and it didn’t fill him with the expected rush of relief despite the familiar fanelian language.  It seemed that his honeymoon was well and truly over.

“Old lover come to defend your honour?”  The dragonslayer quipped, sounding more alert than Van certainly felt.  Bastard and his damn recuperative abilities.  It wasn’t fair!

“Not likely.”  Ugh, lover?  He’d swear himself to celibacy first!  Granted, that didn’t keep various horrifying imaged from dancing through his brain, causing him to shudder in horror.  “It’s Lord Berron.”

“Glad we cleared that up then.”  The snark was so thick that Van could feel it, which was rather impressive.  Taking a deep breath, he sheathed his sword and put the weapon down on the bedside table, motioning for Dilandau to do the same.  All he got in response was a sneer and a softly snarled “Not bloody likely.”

“He’s the Fanelian Ambassador to Astoria.”  Van clarified, which apparently had no effect whatsoever on the dragonslayer’s opinion of the danger of the situation.

“Your Majesty!  I demand you open up at once!”  This was followed by more hammering at the door and Merle’s exasperated growl.

“My Lord, he’s likely asleep… or at least he was.”

“Nonsense!  That sorcerer brat said he should be awake by now!”

“He also said that Lord Van and Captain Albatou needed rest.”

“That is precisely why I’m here you glorified housecat, now get out of my way before I have you charged with obstruction of ambassadorial duties!”

“I haven’t been awake long enough to tolerate that gibbering.”  Dilandau sneered and began walking towards the door.  Van, all too familiar with the dragonslayer’s utter lack of modesty moved to intercept him but was hindered by the bedsheets.  “No need to translate, I can just imagine that he’s here as the great saviour of your precious virtue or something.”  The albino glanced at Van and smirked indulgently.  “He’s a little late for that.  Might want to grab something to cover yourself… Your Majesty.”  That was all the warning Van got before Dilandau tapped the wall panels code and let the door hiss open, baring the bedroom and its inhabitants for all to see.

Much like with Captain Raj, the ambassador stared in shock at being greeted by a wickedly grinning albino in a state of serious undress, though unlike before, Dilandau still held his naked blade in his hand.  The effect was somewhat ruined by Merle’s squeak of absolute horror at coming face to face with the captain and his … assets.

“Ambassador Berron is it?”  Choosing to ignore the traumatized cat-girl, Dilandau instead focussed on the source of his ire, purring the words in a velveteen voice that dripped with menace.  The danger was made even more so by the harshly accented astorian.  “I’m sure that what with everything else going on with the attack, the kidnappings, the war and all that, defending the virtue of your king is naturally your top priority, enough to utterly forget both your manners and your place.  But let me make it clear that that fruit has most assuredly been plucked, and if you so much as touch this door again, I will cut off both your hands and feed them to you.”

“Dilandau!”  Van snatched at the entangling blankets and held them up over his crotch, fully aware that the rest of his body was beet red.  In behind the Ambassador, Merle was clutching at her newly unbandaged eyes and whimpering pathetically.  “Show some dignity!”

“Ugh… pretty sure he’s showing everything.”  Merle whined softly, still covering her eyes.

“Butcher!”  The ambassador hissed, reaching for his belt knife only to find the point of Dilandau’s sword resting lightly at his throat.

“I would strongly suggest that you take a moment and think about your next action Ambassador.”  The purr was gone, leaving behind nothing but deadly black ice, and a tell-tale flicker of energist light bled into the dragonslayer’s eyes.  “It might very well be the last thing you ever do.”

“Ambassador Berron,”  Van cut in, shouldering Dilandau out of the way, the bedsheets now securely wrapped around his hips.  “Do be so kind as to wait in the sitting room.  We will be dressed shortly and speak over dinner.”

“It’s morning.”  Merle grumbled rubbing roughly at her eyes, trying to unsee the last few seconds of her life.

“Breakfast then.”  Van did his best to smile politely, but he was rather sure it came out more as a rictus grin and he practically punched the door locking panel, not relaxing until the barrier hissed shut between them.  Sighing loudly, he let his head thump against it, wondering if maybe letting the energist bomb kill him might have been the smarter move.

 

 

“Sire, with all due respect,”  Lord Berron growled through gritted teeth, his tone directly contradicting his words.  He was speaking astorian on Van’s order, ensuring that Dilandau’s inclusion in the conversation was an option whether he chose to make use of it or not.   “This…arrangement must be annulled immediately!”  As if to punctuate his words, the ambassador stood up, slamming the wrinkled palms of his hands down on the tabletop.  “I will not support a union between you and that…that demon!”  One of his hands shot up, pointing accusingly at Dilandau who was calmly eating some dried fruit and cheese, studiously ignoring the man in favour of his breakfast. 

               Both youths were freshly showered and dressed, Van in his comfortable and familiar red shirt with tan trousers.  Dilandau wore a zaibachi officer’s uniform, the sword neatly sheathed at his side and within easy reach for a quick draw.  Merle had retreated to the far corner of the room behind Van, a plate of food in her lap, doing her best to not look directly at the albino teen.  Her mind still haunted by what she’d seen.

Used to Dilandaus constant dramatics, Van found that the ambassador to be more irritating than anything and he took a bite of his own apple, chewing it for a moment, his eyes never leaving those of the older man. 

Unimpressive in stature, Lord Berron had been a passable warrior in his day, but had proven to be a much better politician during his declining years, managing to hold his own in the court of Astoria long before war had ever cast its shadow over them all.   Muscles, once firm and defined had long ago grown lax and a comfortable paunch had formed around his middle.  His mind however had remained sharp through the years even though there was no little enough hair crowning it.  Unfortunately, his tongue had sharpened as well, and what had once been a foul temper as a warrior had grown into an impressive level of spitefulness. 

He was among the more hidebound members of Van’s court and had the ear of many of Fanelia’s nobles, something he often made great use of with the king, acting above his station whenever possible.  If it hadn’t been for the fact that the man truly did love Fanelia with all his heart and served its interests with skill, Van would have had him replaced long ago.  Still, there was a certain point where even Van wouldn’t tolerate his insolence, and they were rapidly approaching it.

 “Many would call me a demon as well Ambassador.”  He replied after a long moment of thoughtful chewing.  Swallowing slowly, he then leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in warning.  Having long ago grown inured to most of the petty power plays of his council, accepting them as just another part of his life, he now found himself unwilling to sit back and listen to anyone slandering his husband… no matter how much he might deserve it at times.

“Do you number among them?”  Though there was a casual tone to his words, the threat hung heavy in the air, causing the ambassador to stiffen in shock and stare at the king, seeing him in a new light.  Ever since Folken had “died” and his mother had vanished, leaving him, little more than a toddler in charge of a country, the council of seven had ruled in his stead.  They’d dictated his every action, doing their best to shape him into a ruler they approved of, and up until now, he’d let them.  He’d played the part of the human king, the hero of the people, the youthful warrior.  Swallowing the shame of his mixed heritage and hiding half of his very being, denying himself the wind singing through his feathers or the pull of his wings as he soared.  He’d buried half of his soul so deep down that it had taken the near loss of Hitomi’s life to force him to even show the wings his mother had given him.

Gods of Gaea, he’d been their puppet as much as Dilandau had been of the sorcerers.  He’d even willingly walked into that damn dragon hunt, fully aware that it had already resulted in the death of his brother.

No more.  He was ready to spread his wings and take pride in his heritage and all that it meant, the good and the bad.  If Dilandau of all people could embrace it, then there was no reason why he, a man who’d been born like this rather than having it trust upon him couldn’t.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dilandau smirk slightly around the sliver of apple he was eating, likely sensing the pattern of his thoughts and approving.  In face, he could feel a ripple of amusement thread it’s way through their bond. 

Always up for a good fight, even if it wasn’t his own, Dilandau couldn’t resist getting involved.  Especially if it meant throwing more fuel on the fire.

: I honestly don’t mind if he calls me a demon.:  The dragonslayer practically chirped in his thoughts.

: Oh, so you ARE paying attention?:  Van shot back.  : I thought the grunting and chest beating of us barbarians was beneath you.:

: Hmph, I’ve grown rather fond of your chest… scrawny as it is.:  He coiled his tongue around the apple slice, deftly sucking it past his lips in a way which could only be described as utterly lewd.  Van did his best to not look in his direction, but he could feel his cheeks colouring despite himself.  Across the table, the ambassador sputtered in horror at the sensual display and Merle groaned in disgust, thumping her head on the wall behind her, tail lashing back and forth angrily.

: Asshole.:

: Something YOU’VE grown rather particularly fond of.:  Well, he’d walked into that one.  :You have to admit, I do make evil look damn good.:

“Of course I don’t see you as such Your Highness.”  Lord Berron replied, sounding appalled to even have such a thing suggested.  “But even you must admit that your conduct as of late has been… erratic.”  Now there was a diplomatic choice of words if he’d ever heard one.  “You vanished from Fanelia without a word, only to appear in Astoria, then attend the briefest of meetings with me, only to vanish once more.”

“I was kidnapped!”  Van sputtered, suddenly finding himself on the defensive.  “It’s not as if they let me send a message to anyone when I was bound in chains!”  This of course led to the damnable man giving him a long and judging look which plainly said “Folken would have found a way.”  It was a look he’d long ago grown used to, but it still rankled.

“Then we hear of you galivanting across the country in the company of this …”  He waved a hand in Dilandau’s general direction, as if he were nothing more than a foul odour which could be dispersed with a little effort.   “As if that wasn’t galling enough, you vanish _Once_ _Again_ from the palace onto this floating monstrosity and I end up finding out that you’re not only allied with this foul fiend, but bedding him as well?”  Lord Berron’s voice grew shrill the longer he spoke, and he gesticulated wildly, adding punctuation to each accusation.  “This is unacceptable!” 

Unable to stand still, the man began to pace, staying well clear of the young warlord, though occasionally flashing him the odd glare of righteous disgust. 

“If you wished to indulge in such… carnal relations, that is your right as King.  But I must of course insist that your council dutifully seek out appropriate… companions for you.”  Again, he eyed the dragonslayer, his lip curling impressively. 

“Ugh, do we need to talk about this now?”  Merle whined.  “I’m eating!”  She held up her plate as if this somehow proved that the subject should change.  Everyone ignored her.

“Though naturally, the council still fully expects you to wed a _Proper_ Queen and produce many heirs, securing the future of our country and your family line.”  The ambassador continued, emphasizing the word proper and ensuring that everyone knew that he considered the king’s current choice to be anything but.

“I’ve already found my husband, though thank you for your concern.”  His tone was cold and heavy with warning even as Dilandau flashed the older man a brilliant smile, practically preening at the horror such an announcement caused.

“You’re not wed according to Fanelian law, and as our king, you’re expected to uphold the laws of your ancestors at all costs!”  That seemed to get the attention of everyone in the room and the ambassador’s smug smile faltered slightly as he found two sets of rather unfriendly eyes glaring at him, and one set of suddenly very interested cat eyes.

“We’re draconians.  That supersedes any stupid human custom.”  Dilandau spat out, his hand resting on the handle of his sword, the blade half drawn.  Holding out his hand in the warlord’s direction, Van silently ordered him to hold his attack.

“He is king of _Human_ lands, not the cursed lands of Atlantis.  He will follow the laws set down by his ancestors and wed a human wife!”  Lord Berron pressed, either not seeing the weapon being drawn, or forgetting that he wasn’t as in control of the situation as he might expect.  “Considering the current political situation, a marriage to Princess Eries wouldn’t be amiss.  It would cement our alliance with Astoria and ensure the best trade between our countries.  She’s perhaps a tad long in the tooth but still of viable childbearing years if she’s careful.”

“Are you insane?!  She’s old enough to be my mother!”

“Nonsense your Majesty, though a more suitable match would be for us to formally propose a union between you and Princess Kio of Basram.”  He thought for a moment, smiling at his own brilliance.  “Yes.  I believe that would be best.  She is young, tractable and the women of her family are well known for birthing strong healthy _Human_ babies.”

“That’s disgusting.”  Dilandau spat, rising to his feet with the grace of a hunting panther, those smoldering eyes of his narrowing dangerously.  “Princess Kio is six years old.  She’s a fucking child.”   Hand still on his sword, he leaned forward slightly.  “And if you think that will stop me from cutting her head from her shoulders, you’re sorely mistaken.  Van is mine.”  With his free hand, he grabbed onto the feather hanging around his neck protectively.

“Did we seriously just jump right into killing kids!?”  Merle hopped to her feet, glaring at Dilandau.  “Are you totally incapable of having a rational reaction to anything!?  We’re not killing anyone!”

“Merle’s right.”  Van cut in neatly, giving Dilandau another warning look.  While he deeply appreciated the loyalty, and was perhaps more than a little flattered about how possessive the dragonslayer was, he wasn’t about to sacrifice a child’s life in a demonstration of either of those emotions.  “Princess Kio has nothing to do with any of this because I’m not going to marry her.  It’s disgusting, it’s cruel and wrong on more levels than I even want to count.”

“It’s better than the alternative!”  The ambassador sneered at Dilandau, showing a remarkable amount of spine, though perhaps not as much common sense as one might hope.

“The alternative?”  Van cut in, unable to stay calm any longer in the face of his rising fury.  Finding himself on his feet as well, he stood next to Dilandau and glared at the man, stunned and infuriated over his stubbornness.  “Have you looked outside at Palas?  Have you walked through the halls here and seen the injured?  Basram tried to turn this city into a crater!”

“And I fail to see the difference between the actions of Basram and Zaibach.  Nor will your council.  At least the Princess hasn’t personally burned Fanelia to ash and slaughtered its people, which is more than I can say for some.  Think Your Majesty, marrying her would at least protect you from Basram’s wrath.  If you can’t think of the present, at least think of the future.” 

“So then we just sit back comfortably while the rest of the world burns?”  Van crossed his arms over his chest and sneered at the man in disgust.  “Listen here Lord Berron, because I will only say this one last time.  Basram kidnapped me.  They tortured me for a colour and treated me worse than a rabid animal.  They have hunted me down, killed innocent people and have declared war on their allies.  No force on Gaea or beyond will get me to ally with those monsters.”

“Their actions are no different from Zaibach.  That beast himself hunted you down through the entirety of the war and slaughtered anyone who got in his way.  He burned Palas himself to get at you and you seem happy enough to bed him!”

“And today he saved Palas.”  Van shot back.  “People change Lord Berron.  You would do well to remember that.  People learn and grow, oftentimes for the better.  Dilandau is doing a great deal to make reparations for his actions during the war and could very well be one of the keys to our victory.”

: I assure you that I couldn’t care less about reparations.  This is purely self interest.:

: Shut up.  I’m defending you.;

“That doesn’t mean you have to marry him!”

“You’re right Lord Berron.  It doesn’t.  I married him because I love him”

“You can’t Your Majesty!”  the ambassador sputtered in fury.  “It violates all protocol.  It will end your family line and you have not sought the approval of your council!  This marriage is not legal within Fanelia and it will not be recognized!  It is vile, disgusting and is an insult to your people!”

“Without him, our people wouldn’t have a king!”  Van snarled back, his temper finally snapping beneath the weight of the insults.

“Without him, we would still have a capital city and half our population back!”  Lord Berron yelled, slamming his fist against the table before pointing his finger at the king accusingly.  “You had best decide where your priorities lay Lord Van.  Your people, or your whore!  Because you will not have both!”

Steel flashed free of its scabbard in an instant, the blade of Fanelia catching Dilandau’s blow inches from the ambassador’s head.  Van’s arms ached from the force of the attack and the ring of steel on steel echoed off the walls ominously.

“Get out Ambassador.”  The king growled in a low voice, not daring to take his attention away from the baleful glow of Dilandau’s eyes.  “Not another word.  Just get out!”

Staring up at the razor-sharp edge of death which was held less than a hair’s breadth from his skull, Lord Berron took a single hesitant step back, then another.  He could feel the growing chill of the room and how the hair on the back of his neck rise as he suddenly came face to face with his own mortality.

Darting forward, Merle grabbed the edge of his robes and gave him a sharp tug towards the door, pulling him beyond Dilandau’s immediate reach.  Thankfully, he didn’t resist, allowing himself to be led to safety.  Shoving him out of the king’s rooms and into the cool hallway, the door hissed shut behind him.

Turning back to face the drama taking place behind her, Merle saw the two swordsmen glaring at each other over their crossed blades, energy practically crackling between them as neither gave way.  The uncanny chill of the room remained, causing her fur to stand on end as her instincts screamed at her to leave.  Refusing to abandon her beloved king in such a precarious situation, she instead pressed her back against the door and kept a hand on the still unfamiliar weight of her own sword.

The desire to step in and protect her best friend burned brightly inside her heart, but her head warned her that doing so would likely be the worst thing she could possibly do, for all parties involved.  All she could do was stand there and hope for the best.

“I’m NOT you whore.”  Dilandau snarled softly, rage making his voice quiver.

“I never thought you were.”  Van’s reply was calm but strained as he struggled to master his own anger.  “I don’t care what he thinks, or the council back home.  We belong together and I’m never letting you go.  I promised us both a new life, and I intend to live it together.”

As quickly as Dilandau’s rage had flared, it faded away just as fast.  Releasing their locked blades, he turned away from Van and swore loudly, kicking at the chair they’d nearly knocked over earlier, sending the poor thing tumbling over onto its side.

“This is such bullshit!”  He snarled, sheathing his blade with a sharp movement.  “Why does that pompous sack of shit think that he can tell you what to do?  You’re his king!  Execute him or something!”

“Van isn’t a tyrant!”  Merle cut in, stepping forward boldly, ready to defend her friend’s honour, thankful that the worst of Dilandau’s murderous rage had faded.  “You can’t go around murdering people who don’t agree with you.”

“Yes you can.  I do it all the time!”

“Yeah, and look where that’s gotten you.”  She snapped back, earning herself a murderous glare.

“I’m not executing Lord Berron.”  Van grumbled softly, sheathing his own sword and taking a moment to right the fallen chair.  “As obnoxious as he is, he made a good point.”

“WHAT?!”

“Oh calm down.  I don’t mean the things he said.  I meant his attitude.”  Van couldn’t help but smile slightly as he noticed that Dilandau was once again clutching tightly at the feather around his neck.

“Glad to see that you’re amused by that bullshit.”

               “Hardly.”  Van ran his fingers through his hair, holding his other one out to Dilandau, beckoning him over.  Thankfully, the dragonslayer approached, a sullen glare still darkening his features.  “It’s something we’re going to have to get used to though.”  He continued, cupping his lover’s hand around the feather.  “We’ve gotten lucky so far with our friends being so understanding and accepting.”  The words were somewhat weakened by Merle making retching sounds in the background, but both youths ignored her.  “Fanelia has every right to be furious with you and it won’t fade away overnight, you know this.”  When Dilandau opened his mouth for the inevitable protest, and likely utterly callous statement, Van silenced him by tugging down on the feather and kissing him deeply.

               At first, those silken soft lips were hard and unresponsive, but like himself, Dilandau couldn’t resist melting into the kiss.  After a few moments, those leather clad fingers released their hold on the pendant and slid around Van’s back, stroking the thin skin of his shoulder blades which his wings hid beneath.  It made the king shiver in pleasure, so much so that he barely even heard Merles renewed efforts to vomit.

               Finally, the two paused for breath though they refused to pull away.  Instead, they stood there, foreheads lightly touching, sharing each other’s breaths.  Van couldn’t help but smile as he looked at those gently fluttering snowy white lashes or the bright spots of colour high on his lover’s cheeks.

               “Win them over Dilandau, the way you won me over.”

               “If memory serves, we only learned to stand each other in order to survive.”

               “And you don’t see the parallel?  So much for being a great strategist.”

               “So says the guy who leapt out of a leviship to fight an entire squad of aldeides on his own.”

               “Hey!  It worked!  I got you guys off the Crusade.”

               “And we kicked your ass.  Easily I might add.  It wasn’t even satisfying.”

               “Wow,”  Merle butted in, popping up practically between them, torn between disgust at the topic of conversation, and shocked by the display of gentle affection between the two former enemies.  “Only you two could turn a war into pillow talk.  Ugh, you both still reek of sex by the way.  Didn’t Regis tell you to keep it in your pants?  Oh, who am I kidding, I could see damn well that neither of you were wearing pants, which was something I DIDN’T need to see right after finally getting those damn bandages off!

“Honestly, I expected better from you Lord Van.  You’re supposed to be courting him, not trying to get him pregnant… which better not happen by the way because I’m NOT taking care of your psychotic babies…except for Ignis and Irma, I like them.”

That certainly killed the budding romantic moment between the two youths and Merle couldn’t help but give her tail a happy little flick at the stares she received from the two of them.  While she might have promised to not actively oppose their union… no matter how gross and unfair it was, she most certainly wasn’t going to just stand there while they sucked each other’s faces off.

“Speaking of, why didn’t you mention either of them when Lord Wrinklynuts was beaking off about not having an heir?  You said you two made babies in the lab, and those two certainly smell like the two of you… though Irma also smells like a dragon, so I’m going to try really hard not to picture how that happened.”  She stared at one, then the other, her eyes bright with curiosity.  “Ok, I lied, I really want to know how that happened, because all I can picture is Mr CrazyMcstabface here getting his kink on with a dragon and I’m pretty sure that’s not anatomically possible.”

“Wha…why would you immediately picture ME doing that!?”

“You seem the type.”

“There’s a type!?” 

While Van couldn’t help but admit, even if it was just to himself that this was entertaining the hell out of him to see Merle dancing in circles around the warlord, it was only temporary.  The instant Dilandau got his proverbial feet back under him, the now lightened mood of the conversation would no doubt take an uncomfortable twist.  It was better to take advantage of the moment and then move on.

“I didn’t bring them up because if he was so deadest against you, there was no way he was going to accept our children, no matter how legitimate they are.  Make no mistake Dilandau, Ignis is going to be my heir and Fanelia is going to have to accept that, but just like me, they’re going to need time to adjust to the changes.”  He took a deep breath before continuing

.  “And like me, it’s going to have to be a matter of survival before they put their pride aside and move away from the past.  We’re at war now, but you and I are going to make sure they survive.

“That food supply idea of yours will save lives and I can’t thank you enough for arranging with Dryden for a warehouse of it be set aside for Fanelia.  It showed a lot of forward thinking and compassion.”

“Warriors can’t fight well on empty stomachs.”  Dilandau replied crisply.  While he thrived on praise and adulation for his skills at battle, he was deeply uncomfortable with attention being drawn to any acts of compassion.  Those had always been met with instant and vicious punishment, and part of him still tensed up, waiting for the pain to begin.

“And hearts aren’t won by empty assurances.”  Van added, smiling at his lover proudly.

“Ugh, please don’t kiss again.  I don’t feel like puking up breakfast.”  Merle groaned, rolling her eyes at the tender display.  “Besides, you guys are going to need to leave this room eventually you know.  Dryden is holding a meeting of all the important muckety mucks shortly.  It’s probably going to be really boring but it’s one of those things kings and crazy warlords are expected to attend.”

“What?!”  Dilandau’s head snapped around so fast that Van was pretty sure he must have pulled a muscle or two.  “What do you mean there’s a meeting!?”

“Oh sorry, did I slip into Fanelian there for a moment?  Heard that toddlers speak it better than you do.” She smirked.  “I said that there was a meeting.  They brought up a bunch of generals a little under an hour ago… at least the ones who were still alive.  I hear they’re going to go over rescue efforts, security and our next steps.”  She couldn’t quite resist a shiver at that last one.  Everyone in the room knew what their “Next steps” were going to entail, and Merle had seen more then enough blood to last a lifetime.

“Anyway, Lord Dryden asked me to get you and psychoboy here.  Not sure why though, everyone knows that you’re just going to suggest setting everything on fire.”  She smiled with poisonous sweetness at Dilandau who sneered right back at her.  “I was just on my in to wake you up for the meeting when I ran into Lord Berron.”  Now her voice sounded apologetic as she looked over at Van.  “I tried to stop him, but he just ignored me and breezed right past me into your suites.”  As she spoke, her large ears began to droop and her tail rested on the floor, fully expecting to be reprimanded for allowing such a mortifying scene to take place.

“Next time, just stab the jackass.”  Dilandau grumbled at her.  “You’re a warrior, not a servant.”  It was a backhanded compliment to be sure, but any sort of compliment from him was shocking to the extreme and it left her momentarily speechless. 

“There will be no stabbing of the ambassadors.”  Van snapped in exasperation.  “No matter how much they might deserve it.”

“See, this is why your council walks all over you.”

“They do NOT walk all over…look, I’m not stabbing anyone for disagreeing with me.  If I did, we’d always have our swords out around each other.”

“I’m fine with that.”   It was obvious that Dilandau was baiting him now.  He wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t let him murder the ambassador, or just his usual assholery, but Van refused to rise to the bait.

“Merle, can you take us to the meeting?”

“Didn’t I just say that’s what I was here to do?” 

Despite her grumbling, she did indeed lead them through the labyrinthine halls of the ship, away from the bustling med bay and up a flight of stairs, avoiding the energist lift with a somewhat nervous glance.  Dilandau paused in front of it, unsure as to why they weren’t using the technology available, but then seemed to realize who he was travelling with.  Snarling softly to himself in zaibachi, he trudged along.  Van wasn’t sure exactly what he was saying, but he did catch “Ignorant barbarians” more than a few times.  All things considered; he could have been called much worse.

They heard the meeting taking place long before they saw it.  Though they couldn’t make out the words, several raised voices echoed down the otherwise abandoned hallway.  A lone member of the Redpaws stood by the door, a look of long suffering on his face as he growled softly to himself, doing his best to tune out the humans on the other side of the door. 

One of the more physically imposing members of the clan, Hafrn was easily identified by the oddly shaped white blaze running down his snout, looking almost like an exclamation mark.  It would have been almost comically cute if it wasn’t for the bulging muscles or large fangs.  Nearly the size of Rushah himself, Hafrn was known for being rather mellow in temperament and Van had to admit, he was likely the best choice for guarding a room full of tightly wound humans.  It likely also helped that he had no ear for languages and wouldn’t understand any insults thrown his way.

The look of utter relief on Harfn’s canid features the instant he caught the scent of their approach was enough to bring a smile to Van’s lips and he found himself calling out to the beleaguered guard in the wolf language.

“Hafrn, did you draw the short straw?”  The wolf in question flashed him a toothy grin full of suffering.

“I’m not sure about the short straw, but certainly the unlucky one.”  He replied, then jerked his chin in the direction of the door.  “They chitter and yowl worse than a hyena-clan bitch in heat.  Our pack in full howl makes less noise yet manages to say so much more.  How are these the leaders of a human country?  No wonder your people are so angry all the time.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”  Dilandau grinned happily.  “Let’s lock them in and take bets on how soon they run out of oxygen.”

“Sadly, it won’t work, there are vents.”  Hafrn pointed towards the large vent above the door.  “Rushah had me check all possible ways into the room.  None enter or leave save for those I recognize.”  The words were underscored by his tightening his grip on the heavy sword which rested point down in his hands.  “Your leader, the one they call Dryden advised me that you two were the last to enter.  They’re waiting, and none too patiently as you can hear.”

“Lovely.”  Van sighed, hating the fact that every eye was going to be on them when they entered.  Glancing over at Dilandau, he fixed the albino with his sternest glare.  “No drawing your sword.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”  Dilandau couldn’t have sounded less convincing if he’d tried, leaving Van and Merle to exchange skeptical looks behind the dragonslayer’s back.

On that ominous note, they entered the meeting room, stepping into chaos.  Dryden was naturally the one their eyes found first.  Standing at the head of the map covered table which dominated the room, he stood half a head taller than most and was wearing the simplest of clothing.  Though he’d changed out of his burned and damaged robes, he still had several bandages wrapped about his head and arms.  His ever-present sunglasses were gone, and everyone could see the dark circles beneath his eyes.  Some of that was bruising, which still covered one side of his face, but Van was willing to bet that exhaustion had played a rather large part in it as well.  Next to him stood Princess Eries.

Like Dryden, she’d changed her clothing into something clean and undamaged, though there was no way to hide the many bruises and small cuts which covered her face.  The gloves on her hands didn’t seem to fit as smoothly as before, belying they fact that her fingers had been heavily bandaged as well.  Her naturally pale skin still looked sallow and drawn, her eyes tired, though haunted by the horrors of the previous morning.

Next to her was Sibille, looking as untouched by the attack as always.  She leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest and cold jade green eyes staring at the many generals in the room as if she was pondering working out her kill order… which Van was willing to bet, she already had.

Beside her sat Rushah, his bulk barely fitting in the human sized chair, but he seemed to be making the best of it.  Towering over even the tallest man there, and easily outweighing them, he was by far the fiercest looking in the room, especially with his black armour and slight snarl which tugged at his lips every time the humans burst into a new round or yelling.

From the Astorian contingent, Van recognized General Malenchamp, General Altreides and General Teatame, the latter was the only voice of reason out of the trio as far as he was concerned, though all of them seemed to be temporarily united in glaring at the two women present, as if their very presence was an affront.

With them was Lord Berron, Lord Arjun and Lord Justus, ambassadors from Fanelia, Freid and Caesario respectively.  None of them looked pleased to see him entering with Dilandau at his side, though Van was pretty sure that Lord Arjun wasn’t happy to see him either all things considered.  The animosity seemed to be rather mutual, as he was pretty sure he could hear Dilandau snarl something softly in zaibachi at the sight of the Freidian.

The men all stood as he entered, in deference to his royal title, and he took a seat by Dryden at the head of the table. 

“Glad that you two could make it.”  The heir smiled at them both, then nodded his head politely to Merle.

“My Lord!”  General Malenchamp stood up so fast that his chair squealed on the metal floor.  “It’s bad enough that you’ve permitted women into this meeting, but a cat girl?”  He pointed accusingly at Merle who growled softly under her breath.  “This is a war council, not a ladies’ solar!  We are here to discuss the fate of the nation, not lace patterns!  They have no place here!”  The other men grumbled in agreement save for Rushah who growled over at Dilandau.

“Translate for me Nakahi.  I can understand their words, but not speak them as they should be spoken.”  Unable to completely contain his smile, the albino nodded his head and watched at the huge wolfman slowly rose to his feet.  Taking his time, making sure everyone in the room was aware of his size and strength, he took a moment to meet all of their eyes as he spoke.

“Do the bombs not fall on women as well as men?”  He asked pointedly.  “Will their bellies not growl with the same hunger this winter?  Do the wails of the dying not touch their hearts?  Are their lives not in just as much danger as the men?”  Dilandau dutifully translated his words into Astorian, his gift for mimicry allowing him to perfectly accentuate the scorn which dripped from the proud wolf’s voice.  “How lucky human women are to be so mystically spared from such things.”

“It’s not like that!”  General Malenchamp shot back, looking at both Dilandau and Rushah, unsure of who he should be addressing.  “It isn’t a woman’s place to worry about such things!  They are fragile creatures, best suited to hearth and home.  It is a man’s duty to protect them like the flowers they are.”

“I shall be sure to tell my mate that she is a fragile flower in need of protecting.  I’m sure she’ll find that most amusing.”  Van couldn’t help but cough at the idea of Haree being either delicate or in need of protection.  She was nearly as large as Rusha and her teeth just as sharp.  He’d personally seen her lift broken tree trunks that would have dislocated Van’s arms had he tried, and not shown any real strain.

“Hey Sibille, it sounds like the good general is offering to protect you from big bad Basram.”  Dilandau grinned over at his fellow Zaibachi, earning himself a rather rude hand gesture and a sneer which rivalled his own. 

“Say that again and I’ll feed you your balls you little cocksucker.”  She snarled.  Rather than take offense, the warlord looked over at General Malenchamp and shrugged.

“The delicate flower politely declines your offer.”

“The women stay.”  Dryden stated, looking at each man in the room pointedly for a long moment, making sure that each one knew that he wasn’t about to budge.  “Rushah of the RedPaws is correct, what happens to Astoria happens to all.  From now on, women will have a voice in all decisions, which is why Princess Eries is here.  For those of you who will obliquely imply that my wife should be here and in her absence, is proving how flighty women are, let me point out that she’s currently working to save the lives of countless of our countrymen who lay in this ship’s med bay.  She would be here right now if she could.”

“With all due respect Heir Dryden, you simply don’t have the authority to make such… drastic changes to Astorian policy.”  General Altreides stated from his seat, motioning for Malenchamp to sit down.  Rather than argue with him, Dryden turned to look at Princess Eries, who took a deep breath and nodded her head slightly.  Her body was rigid, her jaw tense, as if she was fighting to hold onto her near legendary calm.

Turning back to the assembled, Dryden leaned forward, placing both hands on the table and lowering his head for a moment, gathering himself.   Like Eries, he took a deep bracing breath, then straightened up.

“It is my duty and my sorrow to inform you that Our beloved king, Grava Aston fell during yesterday’s attack.”  There was a collective gasp of shock from those assembled save from Sibille and Rushah who’d been part of the Royal’s rescue, and for some reason that Van couldn’t fathom, Dilandau didn’t seem surprised at all either.  Most likely, his dragonslayers had reported the death to him, likely seeing the king, along with many others on the Paths of the Dead… at least, that’s what he hoped.

“But… but that’s impossible!”  General Malenchamp sputtered, looking as if he’d just been stabbed in the gut.  General Teatame closed his eyes for a long moment, then leaned forward, staring at the new king.

“How did he fall?”  It was a simple question, but the weight of it seemed to press down on all of them.  In the end, it was Eries who stepped forward, head held high and proud, as if ensuring that all the men could see the wounds and bruises on her normally pristine face.

“The catacombs were trapped with explosives.” She began, her voice cool and calm, in direct defiance of the collective impression of feminine dramatics.  “There was no warning.  One moment we were walking down the tunnel, the next, there was a blast of flames and stone.  Father was in front with Sir Tristen and Sir Taglione.  They took the brunt of the blast.  Sir Rizzardo was behind them with Sir Allen.  Sir Allen grabbed me and threw me back from the cave in… both were crushed by the rocks as they fell.  Sir Rizzardo didn’t survive to see the sunrise, Sir Allen lays in the med bay, crippled and at the edge of death.  Sir Francesco and Sir Benvolio had been the farthest away and suffered the least of the injuries aside from myself.  Our attackers intended for our escape to be our tomb, and it would have been had Rushah of the RedPaws and Sibille of Zaibach not found us.  As for my Father and the two Knight Caeli at his side, they still lay beneath the palace, buried beneath the rubble. 

“I have been told that the ground is too unstable to dig.  Any disturbance could cause the remaining stone to fall, not to mention the risk of remaining traps waiting to be detonated.  I will not risk more lives needlessly.  Though it pains me, I and my sister have agreed to leave our father buried beneath the Palace he fought so hard and long to protect.”

“But… without a body, we have no proof of death, Lord Dryden cannot rightfully be crowned.”

“If you had known this long, why have the Bells of Jeture not rung?  Why has the King’s Fire not been lit?”

“He might still be alive!  Any man worth his honour would be proud to claim the risk to rescue him!  We dishonour our king by leaving him trapped below the palace!”

“Then as a man of honour Lord Altreides, shall you be the first to step forward, shovel in hand to unbury him?”  Princess Eries spoke up, interrupting the men who all had begun speaking overtop of each other.  “If it is truly worth the risk, then go with my blessing.  Prove me wrong.”  She stared at the general, her eyes cold and unblinking, their chill blue looking almost glacial against the darkness of her bruises.

Contrary to his bold words, the general slowly sank down in his seat, realizing that both she, and every man in the room were more than ready to call him to task.

“Make no mistake gentlemen.’  She continued, her voice cutting through the sudden silence, sharpened by pain, loss and rage.  “My father is dead.  I saw the flames and the stones take him as they nearly took the rest of us.  Had it not been for the blessings of Jeture and the quick actions of Sir Allen, I would lay beneath the rubble next to him.”

“Princess, with all due respect,”  General Malenchamp began, his tone implying anything but.  “It was an emotional time for you…”

“Oh so help me, if you tell her that she was too upset to reliably tell if her father was killed or not, I’ll set this room on fire so everyone can see what a fucking dead body looks like.”  Dilandau growled, ignoring Van who was shooting him a very clear “Shut the hell up” glare.  “King Aston is dead.  I saw him myself on the Paths of the Dead, and I can assure you without a doubt that he wasn’t on the living side.  Can we now move onto what truly matters?  Keeping the surviving citizens of this city alive?”

“LIES!”  General Malenchamp slammed his fists down on the table as he yelled out his denial.  “You are a lying demon sent to turn us away from our king!”

“I’m a demon who sacrificed his life to save you and your people from a bomb.”  Dilandau snarled back.  “Something I won’t be doing a second time if this is the thanks I get.”

“For Gaea’s sake, he’s not a demon.”  Van snapped, glaring at the general.  “If he says that he saw the king on the Paths of the Death, I believe him, and while I mourn the loss of King Aston, I agree with Dilandau that we need to look after the living before we lose even more souls to the Beyond.

“You will of course understand if we find your opinion to be somewhat… biased King Fanel.”  General Malenchamp sniffed, the edge of his lip curling in a slight sneer of contempt.  “Rumours abound of your… relationship.”

“Oh for fucks sake…”  Dilandau grumbled and deftly unfastened his jacket, pulling it down from his shoulders. 

“Captain Albatou! This is no time for such perversions a-”  The general’s protests were cut off as two huge shining black wings burst free through pale shoulders in a spray of feathers.  They covered the table like a layer of ash, making Van shiver as he remembered all those ominous dreams and he couldn’t help but try to repress a growing sense of dread at seeing black feathers covering a rather large portion of the Map of Astoria.  It looked like an ill omen.  Thankfully, no one seemed to notice, as everyone was staring in slack jawed shock at the newly revealed draconian, the Freidian ambassador going so far as having vaulted over the back of his chair in terror.  Granted, in light of the destruction at Godashim, he couldn’t really fault the man.

Through the flurry of falling feathers, Van could see Dilandau holding his hand out towards the general, his eyes glowing with energist light.

“You wish proof?  Come with me then to the Paths of the Dead, look upon their faces for your king.”  He all but growled at the man.  The general continued to stare, his eyes round as saucers.  The others were just as shocked, including Lord Berron, which didn’t say much for Fanelian nobility as far as Van was concerned.

Sibille, Rusha and Merle watched the drama calmly, though Merle’s eyes did widen at the sight, her ears flattening slightly.  While she’d grown up seeing Van’s snowy white wings, she’d been unconscious for Dilandau’s initial reveal.  Meanwhile, Princess Eries and Dryden did a rather superb job of hiding their initial surprise.  Van was willing to bet that the soon to be king had already known of Dilandau’s inhuman heritage, and Eries… well, she was Eries.  Her mask of calm even in the worst situations was near legendary.

“Well General?”  Dilandau pressed, his hand still extended towards him.  “Do you wish your proof?”

The man in question tried several times to form words, but instead only achieved a less than impressive sputtering sound.  Granted, none at the table looked ready to mock him.

Eventually, he seemed to settle on simply shaking his head, that being about all he could manage, though his eyes never left those dark and menacing wings, likely imagining all sorts of horrors hidden within their plumage.  Still, it was better than most of the others.  They simply stared in mute silence, Ambassador Arjun still cowering behind the table, likely imagining all the horrible ways he was about to die… or worse.

It was Dryden who finally broke the tense tableau by leaning forward and very deliberately brushing the layer of feathers from the map on the table.

“That was a most impressive display Captain Albatou.”  He stated boldly, a wide smile on his lips.  “But in the future, please refrain from moulting on the table.”

“Of course, King Dryden.”  Dilandau snapped him a polite half bow which in and of itself was far more respectful than the one he’d given to the late King Aston.

“I’m not crowned quite yet.”  The future king of Astoria advised him, earning himself a rather nonchalant shrug from the dragonslayer.

“A crown doesn’t make the king, their actions do.”  Dilandau’s wings flexed slightly, stretching after being cooped up inside him for the past day, though Van was willing to bet he was also showing off for the assembled, letting the light from the wall sconces play off his shimmering feathers like the vain bird he was.  “Strong leaders protect their people, they ensure that there is a home to return to after the battle, food on the table and fire in the hearths.  Most importantly, they ensure that there are a people left to return home.”

Now it was Van’s turn to stare at him in shock, half hearing Allen say nearly the same thing to him back during the burning of Fort Castillo.  It made his heart ache to remember such an innocent time, when anger and wounded pride had kept him going, back when he’d have done anything in his power to tear apart the pale teen standing next to him, and vice versa.

“All excellent goals for a king to pursue.”  Dryden agreed, looking rather impressed at the simple eloquence in the words, surprised at the apparent change in the fiery youth he’d met only a few colours ago.  “What of revenge?”

Now Dilandau grinned widely at him, the expression more resembling a barring of teeth rather than an actual smile.

“That would be the duty of the warrior.”  He replied.  “And I give you my word that revenge will be ours.  They will bleed and burn for what they’ve done.  My guymelef shall be blackened with their ashes.”  Aaaah, there was the Dilandau he knew so well.  As psychotic as his words sounded, Van couldn’t help but smile in agreement and he found himself nodding his head.

“And what do you require, as a warrior for this revenge of yours?”  Dryden asked, his tone was one Van knew well, the man was a merchant at heart after all, and now he was bargaining for the future of his country, determined to give them any edge they could.

“Your Majesty!”  General Malenchamp shot Dryden a horrified look, no doubt correctly interpreting what was about to happen.  Before the King to be could speak, General Teateme rested a hand on his compatriot’s shoulder and shook his head.

“This is no time for stubborn pride.”  He advised.  “Our navy is lost; our harbour is in ruins and our wounds are many.  We have yet to properly heal from the war and again we find ourselves in mortal danger.  I agree that we need to use the weapons we have available and let our descendants judge the nobility of our actions, because if we do not, there will be no future generations for Astoria.”

Malenchamp looked anything but pleased with this and his jaw was clenched so tightly that Van could practically hear his teeth grind together.

“Very well.”  He eventually ground out, each word costing him greatly if the strain in his voice was anything to judge by.  “If the little demon wishes to be a weapon, then we’ll use him.”

“He’s not a weapon!”  Van shot back immediately, his eyes narrowing even as he noticed Dilandau stiffen slightly at the words.  “He is a warrior whose sword will fight for Astoria and a hero of the Destiny War.”

“Hero?”  Ambassador Berran sputtered, sounding utterly appalled by the words coming out of his king’s mouth.  “He’s no hero!  He’s a villain of the worst sort!”

“I didn’t say he was our hero Berran.”  If a voice could have ice, Van’s certainly did, and it shut his ambassador up quickly as the man struggled to regain his proverbial footing with his leader.

“Well said Van, there is a vast resource we’ve all but ignored… no, not ignored, cast aside foolishly and most wastefully.  That ends now.”  Dryden drew himself up to his full height then looked at Dilandau.  “General Albatou, what will you require for your forces to be at full capacity?”  There was a collective gasp around the table, and a somewhat strangled sound from General Mallenchamp.  Even Dilandau looked shocked at the sudden promotion, but he recovered almost instantly, a sly grin spreading across his face as his wings gave a little flutter of utter delight.

“I will need mechanics and engineers, both for my Alseides units and the Fortress itself.  Basram has one hell of a head start on us, but even they can’t compare to motivated Zaibachi.  An offer of amnesty will need to be drawn up and backed with royal approval for them, as well as for any pilots willing to come forward.  You are welcome to use my name to entice them, though I will insist on final approval of all pilots.”

“My Lord!  You can’t be willing to go along with this travesty!  These are war criminals he’s talking about!  Our enemies from the Destiny War!”

Van shook his head, amazed at how stubborn these men were, even in the face of annihilation.  No wonder Zaibach had just walked all over them.  By the time they all agreed on a threat and how to deal with it, it would be far too late.

“General Altreides,”  He looked over at the man in question, keeping his tone calm and controlled no matter how much he wanted to throttle the arrogant noble.  “You have an entire warehouse filled with Alseides units collecting dust and no one properly trained in their use.  What he’s proposing is a ready-made army, fully prepared to march and familiar with the equipment provided.”

“And as loyal as a nest full of wyverns.”  Mallenchamp cut in.  “Your Majesty, we have our own knights being trained, and they would be further along if the one who promised to teach them hadn’t gotten himself kidnapped like some errant maiden.”   Dilandau snarled none too softly and reached for his sword, fully prepared to defend the honour of Zaibach, but Van placed a firm hand on his shoulder and shook his head.  The two stared at each other for a long moment in a mild test of wills before Dilandau huffed and released his weapon.

Not wasting a moment on his victory, fully aware that the next time, he might not win, Van turned to the general and smiled.

  “Alright, then Fanelia will offer the amnesty and welcome them aboard our fortress.  I as king will consider their actions and loyalty to be reparations for their roles in the destiny war and when we win, because we WILL win, They will be welcome to settle within our borders as citizens.”

“But… you can’t do that King Fanel!”  General Altreides sputtered even as Dryden laughed in delight.

“I believe I just did General.  Do remember that you were given the offer first and rejected it.  I also command a rather large number of Alseides units and only one pilot.  Fanelia lost the most out of any other country in the war, I believe it is fitting that we look to the future and seek out ways to move forward.  If that takes accepting other cultures into our borders, then we’ll do it.”

“These are the people who razed your country!”

“And they will be the ones to help us rebuild.”  Through the exchange, both Dilandau and Ambassador Berron stared at the young king in shock, and growing admiration as both saw what he was up to.  Even Van was more than a little proud of himself.  He had no doubt that many of Zaibach’s best and brightest would leap at the chance to once again indulge in their passions, working and piloting the powerful armours.  The fortress would allow them to do so without outside interference.  While here, they would be protected, have food, shelter and future security.  Their knowledge would give Fanelia the technological boost that few others shared, so long as they used this resource carefully.  Their biggest challenge would be in avoiding the traps which had claimed Zaibach and now Basram.  It was a bold idea, and dangerous as well, but it could possibly save his country.

Not one to let an opportunity slip through his fingers, Dryden nodded his head and chuckled softly.

“Very well.  Not to be outdone, Astoria will also make similar offers for those who wish to share their knowledge and experience.  Was there anything else you required General Albatou?”

“Yes, I wish to focus primarily on my Alpha unit.”  He replied without hesitation, quick to seize a good opportunity when he saw one.  “I will oversee the training of the others, but once we have an experienced pilot on our roster, I will pass off duties to them.  Beta and delta unit will be adequate ground pilots, but they’ll get killed in aerial battles or group melee which is what I specialize in.  I won’t waste lives on my own side, I don’t care how much political clout their parents have.  They’d rather still have living heirs than dead pilots.”

“You continue to surprise me.  Very well, once we have a pilot capable of teaching the other units, you’ll be able to focus on your elite squad, though do understand, you will suffer politically for this move.”

“Oh dear me, whatever will I do.  Now I’ll never be invited to the fancy parties.”  Dilandau didn’t bother to hide his sneer.  “Though I have one last request.”  Van held his breath, not sure what his husband was up to, but knowing that it was likely going to hit like a punch in the gut.  Dryden seemed to have the same impression because he braced himself before nodding his head, motioning for Dilandau to continue.  The albino smiled in a way that didn’t inspire a lick of confidence in anyone who knew him.

“I want General Gein Adelphos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... Van isn't the most popular guy at the moment. Understandable really given his questionable taste in husbands. I do love the little tender moments between our two heroes... and the insanity they have to wade through to get there. Ah, those two have so many issues, but they play off of each other so perfectly.  
> Poor Merle... what has been seen cannot be unseen. Her suffering is the stuff of legends. I do love though how she just wanders into high level meetings and no one ever really calls her on it. Sneaky little cat.  
> Also, won't Dilandau have a fun time explaining to Van about his fun on the paths of the dead with ol' Aston. Heh.... yeah...
> 
> Next Chapter: The King is dead, Long live the King.


	5. Family Values

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much is blood worth to you? How far are you willing to go for them? Not all gestures are grand. Trust has to start somewhere, but that first step is often the hardest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Canada Day! Finally got this chapter out! Yay! I wanted to post this before the sky started exploding over my head. Thanks everyone who's still reading this and I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am.

“What is it with you and drugging people?”  Van grumbled as he looked down at the cup in his hands, then back up at the grinning apprentice sorcerer who was doing his best to look utterly innocent and harmless.  He was doing a rather remarkable job at it if one was being honest with themselves, and that was just a little disturbing.

“This is purely professional.”  Regis assured them both, earning skeptical looks from the two of them.

“And the rest weren’t?”  Dilandau growled, no doubt remembering that he’d already been drugged at least once in the past twenty-four hours… that he was aware of.  If anything, that damnable smile grew even more innocent.

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m not letting you within a hundred feet of the med bay unless you drink the tea.”  While he said it without that damnable smile wavering in the slightest, there was a rather impressive resolve that both could actually feel.  Naturally, the challenge didn’t go unanswered and Dilandau took an aggressive step forward, his cup still sitting on the table, ignored.

“You won’t let me?  Whose ship do you think you’re on?”

“By your own words, King Van’s ship, sir.”  Regis replied without batting an eye.  Van had to hand it to him, the guy had nerves of steel, though bating the dragon likely wasn’t the best strategy to take.

“Don’t go pulling me into this.”  He cautioned, taking a step back, still holding his own cup, unsure of whether he wanted to risk its contents, or just wait on pins and needles to learn of the outcome from the confines of his room.  “It might be my ship, but he makes the rules…mostly.”  That earned him a slight smirk from Dilandau but Regis seemed to be resolute in his stance.

“Sir, I’m simply attempting to take precautions.  Might I remind you that you personally invited these men and women aboard this fortress to save your brother’s life.”

“You might not.”  Dilandau growled suspiciously, the smirk fading from his face.  Undaunted, and more than a little used to the attitude of his hero, Regis gamely continued, despite Van’s less than subtle motions for him to just shut up.

“You’ve offered them amnesty and a chance at a new life for their efforts, sir.  Those were your words, and these Madoushi have come to you in good faith.  I truly believe that they will do all that they can for your brother and to aid our cause in the war, all they need is for you to give them a chance.” 

The look on Dilandau’s face was now downright dangerous, but Regis plowed forward, aware that if he broke his momentum, he’d never get a chance to say what he needed to.  Shooting Van a rather imploring look, the zaibachi youth quickly prayed that his destiny stretched a little further than the next thirty seconds… twenty considering how Dilandau’s hand was now resting on his sword.

“If you attack these people now, what sort of message does that send to the other’s you’ve invited to join you?  That they’re only safe if you like them?  If there’s any sort of past grudge, that you will rescind your offer and murder them, despite what they’ve risked in coming to you? “

“How dare you think to tell me what to do,”

“Sir, You forget who my brother was.  I know all about Horizon Squad, about Corporal Liens, Captains Threese,  Junger and Gage, not to mention Sergeant Andes.  I know about the Golden Bear gaming house and the 11th Iron Squad.  Shall I go on?  The list of those who’ve run afoul of your temper is long and more than half of them are Court Martial worthy.  Several would have merited an execution for you and your squad, but Lord Folken covered for you.  I’ve read the reports sir, and I’m not an idiot.”

“…Fucking Dallet.”  Dilandau grumbled softly, glancing off to the side, as if daring the unfortunate specter to materialize and brave his wrath. 

“We’re all aware that Dilandau has… issues with his temper.”  Van stepped up, inwardly cringing at the sheer amount of dead on Zaibach’s side.  He’d known that his lover was dangerous and volatile… but to slaughter his own allies like that?... No, on second thought, it really didn’t come as much of a surprise, though he was curious about the gaming house.  It sounded like there was likely a story behind it.

“With all due respect, he has entire volumes.”  Regis’ smile didn’t waver, nor did it lose that fond edge, as if the list of carnage was an adorable little hobby of the dragonslayer.   “Just because nothing could be pinned on you, didn’t mean that people weren’t aware of your propensity for overblown violence, sir.”

“Your point?” 

“My point, sir, is that despite knowing the risks of escaping Zaibach to come to a country which likely has prices on their heads, they have placed their lives in your hands based purely on your word, your promise.  They’ve risked everything for you sir, to protect this world and fight for your cause.  All I ask is that you listen to my advice and drink the tea.  It won’t put you to sleep, but it does possess strong calming properties.”

“So, you ARE drugging me.  AGAIN!”  Even Van could see that Regis was beginning to lose patience with this roundabout argument.  Unlike the king, he hadn’t built up a tolerance to the dragonslayer’s obstinacy.  Naturally, the apprentice sorcerer wasn’t so easily put off.  Rather than butt his head against an immovable force, he instead switched tactics.

“Sir, even though none of us have said it outright or discuss it, you both know what I am.  Correct?”  That earned him a look of narrow eyed suspicion, but both Dilandau and Van slowly nodded their heads.  “Despite knowing this, you’ve allowed me to treat your injuries, you’ve spoken openly in front of me and seen to my martial training.  Your past with those in my profession notwithstanding, you’ve still given me a chance.  You’ve trusted me to act in your best interest despite having little to no reason to.  That’s all I’m asking for here.  Trust them.”

“They didn’t design me to trust.”  Dilandau’s hand never moved from his sword.

“They didn’t design you to love either.”  Regis pointed out smoothly and Van heard the soft creak of leather gloves as the dragonslayer’s hand clenched into a tight fist.  The two zaibachi youths stared at each other for a long moment, neither’s gaze wavering.

“One day, your clever words won’t save your ass.”   The words were spoken in Zaibachi, but Van could feel the oppressive violence clouding Dilandau’s mood lift slightly. 

“If that is my fate, so be it.  But for today, my words have served their purpose.”  Regis replied in kind, bowing his head respectfully.  Gently picking up the cup, he held it out to Dilandau like an offering.  “Please sir, drink, and speak to those within with an open mind, as you have with me.  They wish to serve you; all you need to do is let them.”

Snatching the cup from his hands, and nearly spilling some in the process, Dilandau drank the proffered liquid in one long swallow, his eyes never leaving those of the apprentice.  Following his lead, Van sipped his at a more sedate pace.  He had nothing to prove, but the wisdom behind Regis’ request was sound.  They had to make a good impression, and chances were high of one, or both of them having a panic attack over being in a room full of zaibach sorcerers.

Within less than a minute, he could feel his muscles relaxing and his breathing slow.  While his mind was still as quick as ever, there was a slight sense of disconnect, as if his worries were sealed away from his immediate thoughts.  He felt lighter, calmer, and distantly noted just how wound up he’d been without even realizing it.  The two of them had been on the ragged edge for so long that it had become their norm.  Now, it was like he was flying high above the world.  It was easy to see how people could grow addicted to such escapes.

Closing his eyes, the king took a deep uninhibited breath.  It felt like the first one he’d taken in a long time and seemed to cleanse him right down to his toes.  Next to him, he could feel Dilandau doing the same.

“Thank you sir.”  Regis murmured softly, sounding as if he truly meant it with all his heart.  “Thank you for trusting me.” 

“Let’s get this over with.”  The dragonslayer grumbled, and without further preamble, stalked out of the room, heading towards the office containing the waiting madoushi.  Regis gave his departing form a nervous glance, then looked over at Van pleadingly.

“I don’t suppose you could get his sword off of him?”

“Not a chance in hell.”  The king replied, stepping out after the albino and preparing himself for the worst.  If they all made it through the next few minutes in one piece, it would be a miracle.

He caught up to Dilandau just before the youth entered the room and caught his arm, hoping to stop him for just a moment.  What he received instead was a sharp tug, sending him nearly stumbling into the door.  Thankfully, he recovered his balance quickly enough and gave the arm a sharp jerk in retaliation.

“WHAT?”  Dilandau snapped at him, looking as if he was fully expecting another long-winded lecture on manners, patience and restraint.

“I just wanted to say that I’m proud of you.”  That seemed to bring the dragonslayer up short and crimson eyes blinked at him suspiciously.  “I mean it.  It’s hard enough for me to walk into that room, I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you.”

“Yeah… well… we all have to do shit we don’t want to do from time to time.”  Dilandau grumbled softly, looking rather uncomfortable with the conversation.  “That doesn’t mean we get to avoid it.  It’s one of the joys of being in charge.”

“Still,”  Van pressed him, giving the arm another little tug, pulling him closer.  “I wanted you to know that.”  Reaching up with his free hand, he pulled Dilandau into a gentle kiss, loving how it still made his lips tingle, and how those powerful wings wrapped around him protectively.

“I don’t need to be coddled.”  Despite his words, Dilandau didn’t pull away and Van allowed himself a slight smile as he stole another kiss.

“Fine, then get in there and show those sorcerer’s that you’re a leader they can be confident in following.”

“Wait… following?”

“You heard Dryden.”  Van couldn’t resist a smirk of his own.  “You’re a general now, which means you command more than just a little squad of pilots.  No one else in any position of authority knows the capabilities of the sorcerers, or any of the Zaibach forces you bargained for.  Those are your men beyond that door, not the other way around.  They’re your tools, your weapons and we’re all trusting in you to use them appropriately.”

“How the mighty have fallen.”  Dilandau mused, suddenly looking more than a little intrigued with the prospect.  “This just might be a bearable arrangement after all.”

“Great… don’t suppose you’ll give me your sword before you go in there?  You know… just in case?”

“Position of strength Pigeon.  Swords are a symbol of strength, and I want them to remember that I am fully capable of biting back should they try anything with me.”  Van wasn’t surprised at all, though he’d had to try.

“Could you at least promise me that you won’t draw your sword unless directly threatened?”

“Fine fine, whatever you wish.  You’re awfully pushy considering you’d just said that I make all the rules around here.”

“MOST of the rules.  I said most, and only because I know nothing about floating fortresses or how to keep one up in the air.”  Van protested, then grinned, unable to resist getting in a little dig of his own.  “Granted, you do seem to have a problem keeping ships in the air…”

“Hey, you were the one who was behind the wheel when our last one broke, so that one’s on you.”

“Oh, now it’s MY fault?  Funny how that’s changed.”

“The only witnesses are you, me and Kamata.  Which of us do you think he’ll back?”

“Convenient then that he can’t speak.”

“I understand him just fine.”  Van wasn’t sure if it was the drugged tea, or the conversation, but Dilandau looked like he’d finally calmed down enough to go into the room without it exploding moment’s later.  There really was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer than they already had.  Allen needed the surgery and these people could perform it.  Any time wasted at this point was wholly on them.

“Shall we?”  He finally asked, staring up into those incredible crimson eyes, noting how the pupil dilated slightly as nerves once again tried to take hold.  Giving Dilandau’s arm a gentle squeeze, he smiled encouragingly.  “I’ll be right here with you.”  It sounded stupid and pointless to say that, but the dragonslayer seemed to find strength in the simple promise.  Taking a deep breath, he nodded his head and quickly tapped in the room’s door code before all the screaming in the depths of his mind could shatter his resolve.

 

Peace lasted all of twenty seconds.

Van had just enough time to register the five cloaked people in the room all gathered around several shadowgraphs of what he figured were Allen’s ruined legs.  There were several notes jotted down on the images in that extra convoluted zaibachi and they looked like they were arguing over possible ways to approach treatment.

There was a good-sized crowd in the room, far more than the two or three sorcerers that Regis had promised, and it was now immediately obvious why he’d suggested the drugged teas.

Two women and three men, all wearing those high collared cloaks stood with Geetha, examining the images intently and looked up as the door opened.  Around there was a small smattering of young teens who were likely apprentices of varying level.  They lacked the cloaks of the Masters but had that sort of bookish look to themselves. 

Of the two women, both were taller than Van, an unfortunate trait common of the zaibach people in his opinion, though one only had an inch or so on him.  The taller of the two had close cropped blonde hair and cool steel grey eyes, she looked like she might as well have been carved from ice and held herself with a stoic calm, her long cloak wrapped tightly around herself.  The shorter woman had jet black hair, a bit of an oddity from a citizen of zaibach, though was much more common in Daedalus.  Judging by her height and colouring, she was likely only half zaibachi, but that made her no less dangerous.  Brilliant blue eyes immediately fixed on the two teens as they entered, studying them both with rapt intensity and Van had the feeling that they rarely missed anything.  A crimson tattoo marked her left cheek, with strange whorls bisected with lines and bars.  It looked like zaibach writing, but he had no idea what it said.

The men were just as disparate as the women.  One was older, just on the south side of middle age and a little on the heavier side, his head had been shaved bald, though judging by the smoothness of his pate, nature had had quite a bit of headway in that regard before a blade had ever touched his head.  The skin on one side of his face was heavily pockmarked, likely from an old lab accident and one of his eyes was artificial.  It stood out round and lidless from a metal strap which secured it in its socket and Van had to force himself not to stare.

The second was tall and thin, gaunt from lack of adequate food and there was a restlessness to him which warned that he’d likely been running for his life since the end of the war.  His hair was a sandy brown and long, pulled back into a tight tail at the back of his head.  Like Geesha, he seemed to be more comfortable fading into the back of the room, letting the others take the brunt of the attention and Van was willing to bet that he was far more at home in a lab than standing in front of a king and warlord.

The last was an old man, his hair had long ago lost its colour and begun to thin, though the beard on his chin was rather thick and luxurious.  It was neatly trimmed and had clearly been cared for over the years.  Despite his advanced age, his mind was just as sharp as the others and his movements were confident.  Glasses were perched on the bridge of his long nose, making his eyes appear to be much larger than they were and would have perhaps appeared comical if it hadn’t been for the long cloak which draped his thin body beneath it’s folds.

They all straightened up, standing almost at attention as the two strode confidently into the room and Van noted that all eyes widened at the sight of the two huge wings adorning Dilandau’s back.  While he was sure that both Regis and Geetha had already briefed them on their rather… unique heritage, knowing and seeing for oneself were worlds apart. 

Despite being on his home ground and having the power in this meeting, Van felt his shoulders hunch up slightly defensively.  All those pale eyes staring at him with cold curiosity, all those long fingers itching to pull him apart and see what was inside….  Each one of his newly acquired scars ached at the memory of that damnable lab and he could almost hear Salzar’s oily dispassionate voice reciting the various readings pulled from his body by their agonizing tools and sensors.

There really was no warning, not even a flash of panic or rage before Dilandau launched himself across the room, slamming into the one eyed sorcerer and driving him back against the wall hard enough that everyone could hear the man’s skull impact with the metal.

Before anyone could react, there was a flash of steel and Van had just enough time to realize that it was that damned knife Dilandau always kept tucked away before it was pressed hard against the man’s fully exposed and soft throat.

No one moved, no one dared.  The dragonslayer’s reputation preceded him and all the sorcerer’s knew that they had no way of stopping him.  That burden lay on Van, but he was too busy staring in horror at the sight.  It wasn’t the violence that froze him in his tracks, he knew Dilandau well enough to know that it was expected at least on some level.  No, what twisted his innards up in horror was the sight of his lover, his husband snarling in rage, his eyes glowing like molten energist and trying his best to slit the man’s throat, only he was unable to get his hand to obey.

The knife rested just above the thin skin of the sorcerer’s throat, the thick artery pulsing just beneath the razor edge, but no matter how hard the albino teen strained, his body refused to obey him.  Van could feel his rage and frustration screaming through their bond, and he knew what that meant… what this man was to Dilandau.  An Anchor.

His own hand wrapped around his sword and he it was already half drawn before he felt a gentle hand on his arm.  Spinning around, he saw nothing, but the feeling remained.

_:Wait.  Please wait, let this play out.:_   A voice whispered softly.  Celena’s voice, echoing through the bond.  _:Let the decision be his.:_

“Hardly a decision if his conditioning dictates his actions.”  Van growled softly, his eyes once again locking on the lethal tableau in front of him, noting how little sparks danced between the feathers of Dilandau’s wings, how the very air crackled with lethal energy just looking for an outlet.

_:He’s overcome his chains once already.:_   Celena pressed.  _:He can do it again… if he so chooses.  What will matter more?  His revenge, or the life of our brother?:_   For the life of him, Van wasn’t sure which outcome he was rooting for more.  The vicious murder of one of his lover’s past tormentors, or the life of his best friend.

“I remember you.”  Dilandau hissed, his voice promising entire worlds of pain for the source of his rage.  The words he spoke were beautiful and flowing, belying the intent behind them.  Van didn’t know the language, but Celena helpfully translated through their bond.   “I remember what you did to me.”

The sorcerer didn’t’ fight back, didn’t try to defend himself or anything.  He just stood there, pressed against the wall and stared into those terrible eyes, waiting for the chill of the blade slicing through his throat.

“Lord Mishka,”  The name was more of a snarl, an entire cruel history of pain and humiliation behind the it, making Van shudder, longing to drive his blade through the man’s guts for his crimes.  “I remember your touch; I remember your blades and chemicals.  I remember every fucking scream you ever wrenched out of me and those other children.  Tell me why I should let you draw another breath, and don’t say that it’s so that you can save my brother’s life.  I’d rather him die than owe a bastard like you his life.”

“I…”  The man stumbled over his words, trying to find a reason that would convince death to stay his hand.  Van could see how hard he was trembling, how pale his skin had become, but his own heart felt hard as stone.  Another Shroden, another Salzar… He was a monster who’d shredded the lives of children for his master, who treated them like disposable tools, moving from one broken soul to the next.  If Dilandau couldn’t kill him for his crimes, Van would be more than happy to step up for him.

The gathered sorcerer’s watched in tense silence, none daring to do anything more than breathe as the pinned man closed his eyes.

“I never took joy in my actions.”  He all but whispered, his voice barely heard despite the silence of the room.  “The others looked down on me because I never pushed the limits, they called me timid for it, said that I had no heart for science.  Shroden himself sneered at me, said that the only reason he kept me on the project was the success rate whenever I assisted.  I hated the pain I was causing all of you.”

“Yet that didn’t stop you did it?”  Dilandau snapped, trying to give the knife another push, the pain his actions caused him paled in the face of his rage.  After so long, after so much pain and torment, he finally had a way to strike back at one of his abusers and he loathed to let it slip through his fingers.  “It didn’t stop you in the labs and it didn’t stop you in my cell.  You did your damn duty for the Empire even though it was killing us!  Try harder you bastard.  Just because my blade can’t cut you, doesn’t mean that Van’s can’t, and I can feel how much he wants to gut you right now for me.”  The grin that accompanied those words was all teeth and promise of violence.  It was an expression matched on both their faces.

“No, I didn’t stop it and that will forever weigh on my soul, but I truly believed that my actions were for the greater good of the Empire.  I was swept up in the same madness as everyone else, and like those who’ve come here today, I’m looking for a chance to redeem myself, to Gaea, to you, to all of those children I helped to murder.”

“Still not good enough you one-eyed bastard.  I don’t give a shit about those other kids or your pathetic conscience, you all saw to that.  Try harder.”  The knife shifted from his throat to his remaining eye, the tip of the blade gleaming in the light of the room.  “Shall we play a game Lord Mishka?  You all enjoyed playing games with me when the tables were turned.”  Dilandau’s voice had become that poisonous purr as he toyed with his prey, drawing out the torment and not caring at all what his audience might think.  “I can break my conditioning now… did you know that?  It’s not easy, I’ll admit that much.  Turns out that I just need to be REALLY motivated.  So then, let’s see which of us is the more driven towards our goals, you wanting to live, or me wanting to drive this knife very slowly into your fucking brain.”  
               “I understand his endgame.”  Mishka spat out, his one eye never leaving the gleaming point that danced close enough that his lashes brushed it whenever he blinked.  “The war, the experiments… all of those were just steps towards a greater plan.  None of us realized it until it was all over.  Even then… none of us dared to believe him.  We all knew he was mad, that he was a monster among monsters… but we never thought he’d go that far or that we’d have been so blindly complicit in it.”

“Still failing to tug at my heartstrings Lord Mishka, try harder.”

“What is he after?”  Van cut in, earning a murderous glare from Dilandau which he did his best to avoid noticing.  Locking his eyes on the wide and fear filled stare of the sorcerer, Van slowly approached.  “What is Shroden up to with this mess?  He talked about rebuilding Zaibach, about using Dilandau and those like him as an energy source.  Was he lying?”

“Worse than that, so much worse!”  Lord Mishka gasped out, switching to Astorian though his attention returned to Dilandau and that blade tip still held there, distressingly close.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for dramatics?”  Dilandau sneered, his wings rising aggressively.  “Tell us what you know and do so succinctly before I decide the carve the answers out of your skull.”  The threat really wasn’t necessary at this point.  Van could easily see that the man had no fight left in him, if he’d even had any to begin with.  If it hadn’t been for the knowledge of what this sorcerer had once done to a frightened child wholly within his power, he might have even felt sorry for him.  Instead, all he wanted was to make sure Dilandau didn’t frighten the others away.  Not that that seemed to be an issue.  Everyone in the room watched the drama taking place as if they’d expected it or were simply glad that it wasn’t aimed at them.

“He wants to create a new world!”

“You already said that.”

“No, not a new civilization or rebuilding Zaibach from the ashes.  He see’s himself as a god, a real god and because of this, he feels that it’s his destiny to create a world all of his own.”  The man was obviously mad, and Van found himself shaking his head in disgust.

“Impossible.”  He stated, reaching out a hand to rest it on his lover’s shoulder, knowing a lost cause when he saw one.  “You can’t create new worlds.”

“The Atlanteans did.”  Lord Mishka shot back, pulling his gaze away from the knife to stare at those huge ominously dark wings on Dilandau’s back.  “That’s the legend correct?  In their last moments, the Atlanteans wished for a new world… our world.”

“And theirs crumbled and burned.”  Van’s voice was soft, little more than a whisper, filled with horror at the implications… the sheer madness behind this plan.  The memory of Atlantis burning, of those beautiful buildings crumbling in the flames as a shining white draconian danced among them filled his mind.  He could still feel the heat on his skin, hear the mad laughter and the screams.

“Creating Gaea required all the Atlanteans to share in that wish.  There’s only two of us now, and Shroden doesn’t even know about Dilandau… well, he didn’t.”  There was no point in saying that he likely damn well knew now, seeing as how Dilandau hadn’t been at all subtle in the destruction of Godashim, or their return to Palas after the bombing.  At this rate, they were doing Shroden’s work for him and practically waving around flags screaming “Come get us!”

“He only needs one pure Atlantean.  One who can harness and channel the Fate energies which permeate Gaea.”  Lord Mishka blubbered, speaking so quickly in an effort to placate his tormentor that Van almost didn’t catch what he was saying. 

“His Eidolon.”  Dilandau murmured, his voice a perfect blend of horror and disgust.  “It was a breeding program… he hid it within the Emperor’s Fate Alteration Soldier project.  He didn’t care about soldiers who could alter the battle around them or nudge a new world order into being… he wanted the perfect being.”  The knife was pulled back from the sorcerer’s eye as Dilandau took a step back, trying to grasp the full implication of the horrific experiment he’d been a part of.

“Yes, a true perfect being, created by his hand, controlled by his will.”  The sorcerer stared at the dragonslayer, not relaxing in the slightest.  “He was convinced that you were it, that he could use you to tear this world apart and give birth to a new one.  His intent was for you to draw in the energies around you, for your Fate particles to absorb them every time you killed, every time you suffered…  Eventually, his intent was for you to be able to absorb and collect so much that it would activate the dormant energist which suffuses Gaea.”

“That… sounds like a bomb.”  Crimson eyes met mahogany brown, filled with dread as pieces began to snap into place, creating a truly terrible picture for all to see.

“Yes, one which has been charging up for a decade, steeped in war and pain and betrayal.  One which obeys and worships him, one which will, when activated, tear this world apart and create one of his own design, a world as pliant to his whims as his beloved Eidolon.  He was to be the god of this creation, but you were to be the catalyst.”

“But why the others then?”  Van asked, his stomach churning over the revelations.  Torn between wanting to beat the foul sorcerer to death or offering what comfort he could to Dilandau.  “Why make more?  Why take me?”

“He needed a place to work, this was Basram’s price.  An army of Fate Alteration Soldiers.  Basram wants the battle to be won as quickly and cleanly as possible, with as little effort on their part as possible.  They didn’t escape the war unscathed, and an overwhelming victory would prove their utter supremacy.  As for you?  Shroden isn’t a fool.  He wanted to ensure he could create another Eidolon if anything happened to Lord Albatou.  You were insurance King Van, for future generations of experiments.”

“How… how do you know all of this?”  Van couldn’t help but ask, his head spinning as it tried to absorb the full scope of their enemy’s madness.  “This isn’t the sort of thing he’d have mentioned in casual conversation.”

“No… there were hints of it… things said that didn’t add up… experiments done in secret despite it already being an ultraviolet level project.  I broke into his files one night… I hadn’t intended to, but I saw his key code and couldn’t resist… what I read…”  Lord Mishka shuddered, his already pale skin growing sallow.  “It was madness.  Pure unadulterated madness, and I’d willingly been a part of it.”  He shook his head, disgust radiating off him.  “Perhaps I’d been swept up in the addiction of power, the thrill of controlling life and it’s many mysteries… I’d exulted in our experiments, our victories… but… but after reading that… everything felt wrong and tainted.  I lost my nerve; I grew scared of us moving forward now that I saw the end goal.  The others noticed, they mocked me, considered casting me out of the inner circle, but my skill spoke for me and they tolerated me.  He never knew that I’d learned his secret.  If he’d ever so much as suspected, I’d have been killed.  I have no doubt of this.”

Taking a step forward towards Dilandau, Lord Mishka bent down and kneeled on the floor, head bowed deeply.

“I hurt you, I tortured you, I violated you, I used you in the foulest of ways and I deserve death at your hands for my actions… but seeing the purpose behind it all, understanding the horror I’d been a part of creating, I simply ask for the chance to fix it, to save this world from his madness.”

“You don’t deserve mercy and you certainly don’t deserve my forgiveness.”  Dilandau growled softly.  “What you do deserve is a slow and torturous death, much like what you’d condemned myself and all of those children to.”  Van tensed as the dragonslayer stepped towards the kneeling man.  The knife was still in his hand and violence crackled around him like a charged storm.

“But if I kill you, no matter how satisfying it will be, then that’s one less tool at my disposal.  Yes, you heard me _Lord_ Mishka.”  He sneered the word with such venom that it practically burned the ears to hear it.  “You are My tool now and I will decide how you’ll be used, and when you have become obsolete.  Pray that I continue to find you useful, because the instant I don’t, it won’t be me you’ll be dealing with.  It will be the souls of hundreds of discarded test subjects.  They will rip your life away, dragging you kicking and screaming down to the Paths of the Dead, and once you’re there… I assure you that they will enjoy an eternity of vengeance.” 

The look of utter conviction on Dilandau’s face, the raw hatred in his voice… it left no doubt in the minds of anyone in the room that he was fully capable of doing exactly that and loving every minute of it. 

Reaching down, Dilandau grabbed onto the harness which attached the man’s eye to his head and roughly hauled him to his feet.  With their faces mere inches apart, the dragonslayer smiled cruelly, his eyes blazing for a moment with energist light.

“If I see you harm anyone on this ship, if I hear so much as a rumour of you looking at a child in a way I don’t like.  If I so much as suspect that you are playing at your sick experiments again, your life as you know it ends.  I will unmake you down to your last atom.  I will make what I did in Freid feel like a pleasant day in the park and I promise you that your suffering will be the stuff soldiers whisper to each other in the darkness of the barracks in fear.  I will turn you into a terrible legend, and then… only then, will I hand you over to the dead.  Do you understand?”

“Yes… yes sir!”

“Oh, that felt good… say it again… with more feeling this time.”  Dilandau purred cruelly, his natural sadism rearing its ugly head.

“YES SIR!”

“Better.  Much better.  Never forget your place with me Mishka.  You won’t get another chance.”

“Yes sir.”

“Now get off your ass and save my brother’s life.  I will NOT accept failure!”  He snarled, looking fully ready to stab the man again.

“Of course sir!  At once sir!”  Lord Mishka moved to race out of the room but Van caught him by the shoulder and leaned over to speak quietly in his ear.

“I know exactly what you did to him.”  He stated, his voice flat and utterly void of emotion despite the blind rage screaming behind his eyes, threatening to burst forth in a wild tsunami.  “If you so much as look at him in a way I don’t like, I will cut out your remaining eye and make you eat it.” 

Van had always prided himself on being a sensible person, on being the one with the level head and cool temper in their relationship, but in that moment, he meant every single word.

 

 

               The hand that held his tightened its grip, nearly crushing bone.  Van’s fingers had gone numb about an hour ago and he was pretty sure that the blood trapped in them had coagulated.  They’d likely have to be amputated.  No, the way his luck was going, they most definitely had to be amputated.  He’d spend the rest of his life with stump hands all because he’d decided that he just HAD to be the big chivalrous hero.  Honestly, he has no idea how Allen managed it because it hurt like hell.

“You know that you don’t have to be here for this.”  Van murmured softly, glancing over at Dilandau with more than a little bit of concern in his voice.  The dragonslayer’s skin was a sickly greenish grey and sweat beaded his brow, shimmering in the harsh light of the room as he visibly trembled.  That slender jaw was clenched so tight that he was positive he could hear the albino’s teeth cracking and his pupils were so huge they’d basically swallowed his entire iris.

Not that Van blamed him at all, in fact, he was willing to bet that he looked just as bad.  The two of them were one wrong glance away from full blown panic attacks and they both knew it.  More importantly, everyone else seemed to realize this as well and gave them a wide berth, acting as if they weren’t even there, which was just fine by them.

He owed Regis from the bottom of his heart for those cups of “relaxing tea” from earlier because without them, he was positive that not only would they not be able to do this, but Dilandau would have likely gutted his former torturer before the man had managed to speak a word in defense.  Not that either youth would have shed a single tear over it, but he did have to admit that after the show of incredible restraint from Dilandau, the other sorcerers seemed to have believed the promise of sanctuary.  In fact, they’d embraced it with a near fanatical fervor that had astounded the king and he had no doubts that all of them would do everything in their power to not only make Allen whole again, but also turn this struggling floating fortress into a brilliant city.

“I’m proud of you Dilandau.”  He murmured softly to the terrified youth next to him, pretending that he couldn’t feel how hard he was trembling.  The bond between them shrieked with tension, urging them to fight their way out of this room, to race to the nearest exit and fly as fast and as far as they could.  It was hard to ignore, but he did his best to squash it mercilessly.  They were together.  That was all that mattered.  Together, they could conquer anything. 

“A warrior who can’t face his fears is a useless thing.  Zaibach doesn’t tolerate useless things.”  Dilandau replied, his voice tight with strain.  It was a variation on that same damn litany that Van had quickly grown to hate.  Any hint of implied weakness seemed to bring it up, as if the pale youth couldn’t accept the fact that he was just as human as the rest of them… well, perhaps not as human, seeing as how he still proudly sported those huge wings.

“No one is calling you a coward Dilandau.”  It really was pointless arguing with him on issues like this.  One day Van knew he’d have to accept it, but today wasn’t one of those days, and he could feel the hand grip his even more tightly than before. 

“I used to dream of killing him.”  The dragonslayer murmured softly.  “Both of you.  I had the whole scene worked out in my head.  My dragonslayers would drag you up to my throne, bound in chains, your clothes torn, your eyes defiant, but there wouldn’t be a mark on either of you.  They wouldn’t have dared to touch you… that was all for me, and I relished the prospect.  I’d look down at you, shaking in your fury, hear you curse my name, swear to see Zaibach fall if it took your last breaths… it was all dreadfully heroic, and utterly doomed.”

“Put a lot of thought into it have you?”  He wasn’t even going to mention the erotic themes behind that little fantasy.  It was just so many levels of wrong.

“I take my revenge very seriously.”  Though he spoke to Van, his eyes never left that golden figure on the bed, staring at him intently, memorizing every detail of his face, locking it into memory.  It felt like the most important thing in the world at this moment, as if he might blink and suddenly find Allen gone forever.

“Yeah, don’t I know it.”  Van managed a weak chuckle and gave his hand a gentle squeeze, but Dilandau barely felt it.  All that mattered was Allen and what was happening to him.

“My last memory of the war was fighting you, wanting you dead so badly that it was choking me, blocking out everything else around me.  You, Him… It barely mattered at that point so long as there was blood and death and screaming.

“When I woke up that night in the inn with him standing over me, that wild rage was gone.  I didn’t realize it at first, everything was so confusing, but I didn’t slit his throat… I couldn’t.  I didn’t even really want to… all I wanted to do was run away, go back to that nothingness, to find a way to join my men and make the screaming in my head stop.

“Now though…I can’t.”  Dilandau closed his eyes and drew in a deep shuddering breath.  “I can’t watch him die… I can’t let him die and I don’t understand why.  I’m not supposed to care; this isn’t supposed to hurt like this!  I don’t understand it and I don’t like it!”

“You love him Dilandau.  There’s nothing wrong with that.  It’s part of being human.”  Those crimson eyes opened once more, rage smoldering in their depths, fighting to burn away the confusion and fear.  Anger was something he understood.  It was an old and familiar companion, an ally who’d always lent him its strength when he needed it, but it had never fought a foe like this before, and he had no idea how to win.

“Don’t say that, please don’t say that.”  He murmured softly and something about his tone of voice made Van shiver deep inside.  “My love kills everything it touches.  It corrupts and taints.  My love is a curse.”

Frowning, Van turned and stepped in between his husband and the sorcerers fighting for Allen’s life.  He blocked Dilandau’s view of the drama and cupped his cheeks in his hand, forcing those eyes to focus on him and him alone.  For a moment, it looked like the dragonslayer might fight him on that, either by shoving him aside or jerking his head away, but he held still, their gazes locked.

“The greatest treasures are often guarded by the mightiest of curses, and your love is a treasure beyond compare, so I’m willing to risk it.”  He stated, letting Dilandau feel his confidence.  “You’re not the same person you were during the war.  Neither am I, so stop trying to hold onto who you once were.  It brought you nothing but pain in the end.  You’ve been given the rare gift of a new beginning.  Take it and learn about the new Dilandau Albatou ni Schezar, General of Astoria’s elite forces and Prince Consort of Fanelia, husband of King Van Slanzer Fanel.  Personally, I’m rather partial of that last bit.”

“The new me doesn’t like feeling helpless.”  Dilandau replied after a long pause, the two of them staring into the depths of each other’s eyes, holding onto the bond between them tightly and letting their emotions flow freely between themselves.  That sense of wholeness, of utter belonging helped center them both, giving them strength for what was to come.

“You’re far from helpless.”  Van smiled, gently stroking that smooth unscarred cheek with his thumb.  The touch was gentle and soothing, helping them both relax a little.  It was a comforting gesture and Dilandau leaned into it slightly with a soft sigh.  “We’ll have our part to play as well.  These sorcerers might be able to put him back together, but it’s up to the rest of us to make him whole.  Once he wakes up, he’ll need you more than ever Dilandau.  You’re his brother just as much as Celena is his sister, and he loves you.  Even I can see that.”

“He’s going to kill me when he finds out I grabbed onto an active energist bomb.”

“Yeah… He’s going to beat the crap out of you for that one.”

“Protect me from his wrath?”

“Not on your life.  He punches almost as hard as you do.”  That earned him a shadow of a smile, but to Van, it felt like he’d just been granted a beautiful gift.  He wanted to pull the beautiful dragonslayer into his arms and kiss him until they were both breathless, but this wasn’t the place.  Instead, he shared a smile of his own and stepped back, letting Dilandau return to his vigil.

 

 

The field was gone, as was his father.  Instead, he found himself in a strange room lit by glowing energist scones set in the wall and surrounded by machines that looked zaibachi in origin.  Everything hurt in ways that defied logic, causing him to groan softly as he blinked his eyes, trying to figure out if this was some new nightmare.

“It’s good to see you finally awake.”  A soft voice spoke off to his side, warm and familiar, a welcome anchor in amidst the strangeness of his current predicament.  Turning his head to face the speaker caused pain to lance through his body, setting nerves on fire and stealing the breath from his lungs, but being no stranger to pain, he took a deep breath and forced his body to obey.  Cool blue eyes the same shade as a summer afternoon met his, framed by pale silvery lashes and even paler skin.  “Try not to move too much.  Your body has been through a lot and the last thing anyone needs is for you to pull any stitches.”

A few more blinks brought her face sharply into focus and Allen stared at Princess Eries, trying to understand why her normally pristine face was bruised and cut.  There was deep sorrow shadowing her eyes, but a fire as well, one he hadn’t ever seen before and he shuddered deep inside at witnessing its heat.  The princess was rarely truly motivated regarding most things, generally preferring to let her more outwardly passionate sisters handle it, but when that fire in her soul caught fire, it blazed.

“P…Princess?”  His voice sounded raw and scratchy, strange to his ears.  Dry lips threatened to crack as he spoke and Eries leaned forward with a glass of cool water and a reed straw for him.

“Don’t talk, not yet.  Drink and listen, then sleep.” She instructed and though her tone was gentle and demure, it held the weight of authority behind it.  Obediently, he took a few small sips from the straw, sighing at the heavenly clean taste of the water, how it seemed to rinse the grit from his mouth and throat.

“What happened?”  He found himself asking, finding that the act of taking a few sips had worn him out.  “Everything hurts… why am I so tired?”

“Already disobeying me.”  Princess Eries sighed softly, a faint fond smile touching her lips.  “You always have to be a rebel don’t you.”

“A family curse I’m afraid.”  Despite his pain, he found himself mirroring her smile.  “As is my boundless curiosity… what happened?  Who hurt you?”  Reaching up to gently touch her bruised face, he froze.  Long lengths of snowy white linen bandages wrapped around his forearms and where there were none, the skin beneath was badly bruised.  Several small spots of crimson appeared to have already bled through the cloth, though the worst was seeing the tubes.  They had been inserted into his veins, violating his body and allowing strange liquids to seep into him.

“They are keeping you alive and giving you medicine.  Don’t attempt to remove them or Millerna will be most cross.  She inserted them herself and I will not be explaining to her how you ruined her hard work.”

“Medicine?  What… what happened?”

“What do you remember?”  Her eyes grew sad, a heavy weight pressing down on her as she gently reached out and took her hand in his.  Frowning, he noticed that her hands had been bandaged, just as his had been.

“Nothing.”  His voice was little more than a whisper.  “Nothing that explains this…”  Looking up, his eyes met hers and he could see tears glistening on her lashes.  Eries had never been one to fall easy prey to her emotions, and Allen could see the horrific pain tearing at her inside, despite the aloof masks she hid behind.  It made his own suffering pale in comparison and he dreaded hearing whatever revelation she might share with him.

“Jeture turned his favour from us, only to bestow it once more.  We have lost so much, but… we survived.  By His grace we survived.”  Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, offering up a silent prayer to the Great Serpent of the Deep.  “Basram attacked at dawn two days ago.  The ships had just left the harbour for the morning catch, the city was just beginning to awaken to the sun when the docks began to burn.”  Allen drew in a sharp breath of shock but Eries gently squeezed his hand and continued.  “Two leviships descended from the heavens, firing energist weapons down upon us like the wrath of the gods themselves.  Buildings were torn apart, the very stone of their foundations shattered.  Our navy was the target, with any other docked ships falling as collateral damage.  We could feel the explosions at the palace, saw the smoke… heard the alarm bells.  Father and I were enjoying breakfast in the gardens and discussing winter trade.   Millerna and Dryden were overseeing your brother’s troops and his grandiose claims of destiny. 

“We saw the smoke and flames… we could hear the screams on the wind… I’d prayed so fervently that war would never touch our shores again, that the innocent would never know its dark terror.  Jeture turned His face from us and our harbour burned.

“Father ordered us to the catacombs until the threat had been dealt with.  You were there with the other Knights Caeli and escorted us to safety.  I didn’t see Millerna by the entrance and grew worried.  I sent Sir Martin to go find her, to escort her here safely… I should have sent you.  I could see your worry for her, for your brother as well no doubt… but I knew somehow that if you were by my side, that I would be alright.  Woman’s intuition perhaps?  A silent whisper from Jeture?  I will never know, but I shall be eternally grateful for my little moment of selfishness, for you saved my life, at great sacrifice to your own.”  She gave his hand another squeeze.  “You saved me Sir Allen.  The catacombs were trapped, the stoned exploded around us, burying us in fire and earth.  You pushed me back, shielded me with your body and because of your actions… your sacrifice… I lived to see the dawn.  Others… they were not so blessed.”

Cold dread knotted itself in his guts, causing them to clench painfully as hundreds of terrible possibilities etched themselves into his mind, each one worse than the next.

“The King?”  He asked, dreading the answer.  Rather than speaking, Eries shook her head, her breath hitching as she closed her eyes against the flow of tears which now spilled down her cheeks.

 “Gone… all gone.  He lays buried beneath the depths of the palace, forever lost to us.  Dryden wears the crown now, though there hasn’t been an official crowning as of yet.  He’s requested we wait the proscribed time for the turning of the moon.  We… we might not have Father’s body, but we will still observe the proper honours which are his due.”    Allen couldn’t help but gasp in horror at her words, wanting to deny it with all his heart, but somehow, deep down, he could feel the truth of her words.

“We were trapped below, but the true nightmare was unfolding up above.  Basram was behind the attacks.  They wanted Father to see his city burn, to understand that he was defeated before they destroyed him… before they destroyed all of us and wiped Astoria off the face of Gaea.”

For a long moment, Allen couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think.  He knew what she was meaning.  What else could it be but the one weapon which stood above all others, which should never have been invented and had only been used at the height of Altered Fate madness.

“They dropped a bomb?”  Eries nodded her head.

“One large enough that it still burns in the heavens, a warning and a reminder to us of what our enemies are capable of.”

“How… I don’t understand.  How did we survive?”  She stared at him for a long moment, then looked off towards a darkened corner of the room, away from the machines which surrounded him, but where it would still grant a clear view of the bed.

“They saved us.  Even seeing for myself, I still find it hard to believe or understand, but somehow, they did it.”  Following her gaze, he could make out the forms of two youths curled up together on a chair.  Limbs hopelessly entangled with each other.  They honestly looked like two puppies sprawled around each other and it would have been adorable if it wasn’t for the huge dark wings wrapped around them like a blanket, or the fact that he could very clearly see a rather telling bruise on Dilandau’s neck just beneath his ear.  Ugh, so much for proper courting behaviour.

“They saved us?”  Allen glanced back at Eries, not sure he’d heard her properly.  “How?  Nothing stops an energist bomb.  It’s not the sort of thing you can toss away.”

“It seems that somehow, they managed to do exactly that.”  Shrugging elegantly, she held up more water for him.  “It wasn’t easy on them, even I could see that.  Dilandau was burned and unconscious from what I was told, he’s spent the last few days sleeping off whatever they did, but he did wake up long enough to save your life a second time.”  She motioned towards the tubes piercing his arms.  “You’d lost a lot of blood.  He gave you his… well, he returned to Celena and she gave you her blood, the sorcerers said that his wasn’t compatible with you or something of the sort.  Millerna would likely explain it better than I can.  The two of them have been at your side since the operation.”

“Operations?  Sorcerers?  Plural?”  Thoroughly confused now, he tried to sit up, but his body made it abundantly clear that that wasn’t happening any time soon.  Eries gently shushed him, placing her hand against his shoulder to keep him still.

“Yes, your little brother has been busy.  He brought sorcerers here to save your life and convinced Dryden to grant them amnesty for their efforts.”

“But… the sorcerers… they…”

“Yes… they hurt him badly by the sounds of it.  I’ve only heard bits and pieces, but it’s enough to know that there’s no love lost between them, but he did it for you and hasn’t left your side since.”  Sighing softly, she motioned again for him to drink and this time he reluctantly obeyed.  “He truly does love you.  Despite his brash and caustic attitude, there is a great deal of loyalty within his heart for you.  Do you think it’s enough to keep him under control?”

“Nothing keeps him under control but himself.”  Allen couldn’t help but murmur.  “And even that is negotiable.  Please don’t refer to him as if he’s a tool to be used or a beast to be tamed.  Zaibach treated him like that, using him up until he broke… I can’t do that to him.”

“You know what he did to Freid?”  The knight couldn’t help but wince at the memories of the smoke, the strange charts in Regis’ hands and the horror in the eyes of him and his master.

“I can imagine… and I doubt that my imagination scratches the surface.  I also know that he had a sound reason behind it.  While I might not agree with his actions, I cannot condemn him for it.”

“Would any reason excuse his actions?”

“Is Freid demanding a blood price?”

“…no.”

“Then they understand as well.  This doesn’t concern either of us Princess.  It is between my brother and Prince Chid.  It is best to let such things drop.  He’s our ally, and by your own words, has proven himself many times over.”

“I prefer to know what exactly I’m allying with.”  She replied coolly, placing the cup on the table before taking a step back.  Looking at him for a long moment, it was obvious that there was something more she wanted to say, but instead she turned away from him.  “I should go.  I will inform the Millerna that you’re awake.  Gaddes is here as well, as is the rest of your crew.  They’re rather loyal, that’s commendable.”

“I will pay for any damages they cause.”

“You’re in Van’s ship, not one of ours Sir Allen.  Your debt will be settled with him.”  Ah, he was on the fortress?  Then why was Eries here?  Allen had so many questions, and each answer seemed to breed even more of them.  It was maddening.  “I must go, I have other duties.  Did you wish guests, or should I ask them to wait until some of your strength returns?” 

“…not right now.  Thank you, Princess.  Let them know that I’m alive and awake… I fear I don’t have much strength at the moment and do not wish to be seen as an invalid.”  Nodding her head politely, Eries slipped out of the room and into the bustling hallway beyond the door.

“I’d have healed you if I could.”  Dilandau’s voice broke the silence moments after the door had shut.  Looking over, Allen could see those crimson eyes flickering slightly in the depths of the shadows where he sat.  “I wanted to, but they’ve made sure to keep me pretty drugged up so I don’t try anything.  Starting to think that Regis has a poisoning fetish.”

“How long were you awake?”  Allen watched as the lithe figure of his brother extricated himself from his tangle and rose to his feet, wings flaring for a moment to keep him balanced.

“Long enough to hear you defend me.”  Flashing a wide grin at the knight, Dilandau walked towards the bed, his steps a little unsteady and his gaze lacked its usual intense focus, lending weight to the statement of drugging.  In fact, Allen was rather sure his brother was high as a kite at this moment.  “It was nice.  Usually it’s just Van defending me… which still sounds odd to say.  Does it sound as odd to hear?”

“I enjoy hearing that he defends you, though it pains me that you require defending.”

“Bah, I’ve usually done something to deserve it, I won’t deny that.”  Dilandau chuckled softly.  “I don’t know how you do it.  This hero crap sucks.  You can keep it.  It’s just not worth the annoyance when you get down to it.  I think I liked being the bad guy better.  I could stab people I didn’t like, or set them on fire.  I could laugh when cities burned and kick people when they were down and it was just business as usual.  Now I’m making bargains, showing mercy and saving people I don’t particularly like.  Do you happen to have any wine in here?”  He glanced around, his wings flaring out again.  “I haven’t had any wine in days and I’m rather sick of being sober.”

“Dilandau, look at me.”  Allen put just enough authority into his voice to catch and hold his brother’s attention and the youth obeyed, still swaying slightly on his feet.  “Were you hurt?”  It didn’t fill him with confidence when Dilandau had to think about that for a few moments, then looked down to examine his glove covered hands.

“The burns faded, Mora’s cream did a good job, and I wasn’t dead for long.”

“You died!?”  Again he tried to sit up but Dilandau waved his hand dismissively.

“Only for a little while… I think.  It wasn’t so bad, much more interesting than not existing anymore… not that I really remember that, but I imagine it would be rather dull don’t you think?  Anyway, my men were there at the Gates as well as King Aston, and so many others… but they wouldn’t let me cross over, even though I wanted to.  Well, my men wouldn’t let me.  Aston had other problems to deal with.  Then Van brought me back, but everyone said I was too drained to heal you, that it would kill me… Kill me again… is there a limit to how many times a person can die before they stop coming back?  I think I’ve lost track for myself… three?  Four?  Does not existing count as death?  It really should.  Anyway, they went on and on about why I couldn’t do it… healing you, not dying.  I seem to be really good at that, which is disappointing really.  I much prefer killing other people rather than dying myself.

“They kept going on and on about organ failure, system shutdowns, blah blah blah.  Honestly, I got sick of listening to them and sort of tuned it all out.  That’s when Celena and I decided to give you our blood… well, hers. 

“Can you believe they dared to say that we’re not species compatible?  I mean, sure, I’m Atlantean and you’re human, but if Van’s mom can fuck his dad and make little winged babies, then I should be able to give you my blood.”  The amused look on his face faded and he took a few more steps forward, bringing him to Allen’s bedside.  Rather than looking at him, he instead stared down at the knight’s legs.  Allen in the meantime was trying to digest even a portion of what was spewing out of his brother’s mouth.  Sober Dilandau was tight lipped about his true thoughts, drunk Dilandau was just plain mean, but it seemed that drugged Dilandau didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut and seemed to not have any sort of filter between his thoughts and his words.  It would have been rather amusing if he wasn’t so worried about what he was hearing.

“I did what I could Allen.  They wouldn’t let me heal you, so I gave you a different miracle.  There’s more than one way to alter fate after all… just… don’t hate me for it?”  Biting his lower lip, he finally looked up into Allen’s eyes and the knight could see the naked dread in their depths.

“Why would I hate you?”  Both stared at each other in confusion, then Dilandau rolled his eyes and swore softly in zaibachi.

“Empty fate, the cowards.  They didn’t tell you?  I thought the princess would have.  She seems the type to tear the bandage off the wound quickly rather than coddling the patient.”

“What do you mean?”  Honestly, his heart wasn’t going to handle much more stress and Allen could feel his unease growing.  Carefully, he moved each of his limbs, fearful of some unseen injury.  True, everything hurt badly, some more than others, but everything seemed to be accounted for, his fingers, his hands, his arms, his legs… wait… why couldn’t he move his legs?  Unease quickly grew into panic and he could feel his breathing quicken as one of the beeping machines began to bleat out warning sounds.

“When you saved the princess, the rocks intended for her fell on you.”  Dilandau explained, not mincing his words despite the regret in his voice.  “It really wasn’t a day to be a hero for either of us.”

“Why can’t I move my legs?”

“Well…. Your one leg was badly broken.  Shattered really… There wasn’t much that the Madoushi could do to save it and there was the issue of malunion and other assorted and affiliated conditions.  You’d have never walked again.” 

The bottom dropped out of Allen’s world as he stared down at the body which had betrayed him, the body he’d depended on, taken so much pride in.  His leg was gone?  Amputated?  He was now like those old soldiers one would often see in the streets, hobbling along on a wooden leg, used up and wasted?  Was his story over so soon?  Sweet Jeture, when Princess Eries had spoken of a sacrifice, he hadn’t realized that she’d meant it so completely…

“It’s going to take time to get used to using it.”  Dilandau was saying, making the knight realize that he’d missed a large chunk of the conversation and now had no idea what his little brother was talking about.

“What?  What am I getting used to?  My leg is gone Dilandau, there is not getting used to that!”

“Legs, plural Allen.”  The dragonslayer snapped back, proving that he had the worst bedside manner in history.  The revelation left Allen fighting to think, to breathe, to do anything other than mentally scream in denial.  BOTH!?!?  He would never walk again?  “Hey, you’re not listening to me Allen.”  Dilandau snapped irritably and the knight shot him a look of pure murder.

“Both my legs are gone, and you’re upset that you’re not the focus of my attention!?”  He was shaking now, shock taking over as his mind struggled to grasp this nightmarish turn of events.

“They’re not gone, that’s what I’m saying.”  Dilandau pressed onwards, then with a huff, pulled aside Allen’s blankets, exposing… silver legs?  No… not silver… metal.  Metal devices moulded to resemble his legs had taken the place of flesh and blood limbs.  He could see each individual toe, make out the detail of the delicate joints on each, even the ankles which while slender and sleek looked strong enough to support him as he moved.  His calves were now metal, as were his knees, gleaming in the dim light of the room.  This was a nightmare, one he desperately wanted to wake up from before he went mad.

Leaning over the bed, Dilandau rapped the limbs with his knuckles, creating a sharp ringing sound as the armour of his gauntlets struck the metal of his legs.

“See?  All new and shiny.  It will take a bit of practice to walk in them, but they’ll behave just like regular legs.  The madoushi hooked them up to respond to muscular and nerve impulses.  You won’t feel anything through them, but they’ll be just as responsive as your old ones.  Better even.  They won’t grow tired or strained and they will be far stronger than your old ones.  Really, this is no different than Folken’s arm, only without the damn poison well in them.  Hated that damn thing.” 

For a long moment, all Allen could do was stare at his sibling, stunned not only at the state of his own body, but the strange attempt at cheering him up… if that’s what it actually was.  As if realizing the mess he was making of this delicate moment, Dilandau chewed his lower lip once more and glanced askance at Allen.

“I’m fucking this up aren’t I.”  It was more statement of fact than question.  Even in his drugged state, Dilandau could read the signs of distress in his sibling.  “I’m terrible at this sort of thing, even Van thinks so… I blame poor upbringing really.  I just… You were dying Allen.  Right in front of me and there was nothing I could do.  Internal damage.  You’d been crushed by the rockfall.  Several of your organs had ruptured or were badly bruised, your one leg was severed, the other crushed.  You were concussed and bleeding internally.  It was all they could do to stabilize you and they still nearly lost you a few times.”

“But they didn’t.”

“No… they didn’t.”  The soft and gentle smile which traced itself across Dilandau’s lips nearly broke Allen’s heart.  He’d ached to see a smile like that for so long, and now, he truly wished that it could have been under better circumstances.  “Granted, it’s a little embarrassing to know that a bunch of stupid rocks did more damage to you than I ever did.”  He flicked aside the covers, exposing Allen’s body to the room, his eyes focussing on the long scar traced across his brother’s ribs.  It had been colours since Dilandau’s claw had kissed his flesh, but the wound had healed surprisingly well considering the chaos involved in the aftermath of that battle..  “It looks good.  That princess really knew what she was doing.”

“Dilandau!”  Allen quickly shifted an arm to cover himself, modesty winning out over the pain of moving.  Undaunted, the albino menace smirked knowing at him.

“Oh please, I’ve had a front row seat to your precious little bits, there’s little point in hiding them now.  Besides, Van more than satisfies me.”

“A fact to which I’m sure he’s infinitely grateful.”  Allen grumbled as he pulled the blankets back over his lap.  “Nice love bite on your throat.  Don’t think I didn’t notice that.”

“Would you like to see where the other ones are?”

“Not particularly.”  A smile tugged at his lips at the playful banter.  This had to be the longest conversation he’d had with his brother and no swords had been drawn or threats of death thrown at him.  Who knew that it would take their mutual mutilation and death to bring them together.  Gaddes was right, the Schezar’s thrived on high drama.

The air felt comfortable between them, as if their past violent history hadn’t been so much forgotten as set aside and for the first time in his life, Allen felt like he truly had a little brother.

“Thank you Dilandau.”  It was odd saying the words.  In fact, he was sure that he’d never uttered them before and truly meant it.  Sensing the weight behind what had been said, the dragonslayer looked over at him, more than a little confused.

“For what?

“You saved my life.”

“I also broke your nose and have rather singularly made your life into a spectacular living hell.”

“Princess Eries says that you saved Astoria.”

“Yeah… well… I burned it first.  I hate copycats, they’re cheap and lazy.  It was insulting that they would try to outdo me.  Really, it was a matter of pride rather than any altruism on my part.”

“I’m surprised you even know that word.”

“I set fire to a dictionary once.”

“You still did a good thing, and people will know it.  I’ll make sure of it.”

“Great, there goes my reputation.  Now the other villains will laugh at me, call me soft.  I’ll never get invited to the really good battles.  Soon everyone will be expecting me to pet kittens and puppies, maybe help out at orphanages.”

“Sweet Jeture no.  I shudder to imagine the trouble you’d get into.”

“What?  I could be good with kids.  Look how Kamata turned out.”

“Isn’t that your dragon?”

“Yes.”

“I stand by my original horror.”

“You’re just jealous because I have a dragon and you don’t.”  
               “Yes, that’s precisely my problem with you running around with a murderous beast.”

“Bah, people say far worse about me, the least my pet can do is try to keep up.”  The sheer absurdity of the conversation brought a chuckle to Allen’s lips, despite the horror of the situation.  It was odd to find a light in such darkness.  With war looming over them and death surrounding them, the two Schezar brothers shared a laugh with each other.

“You’re both insane.”  Van grumbled from his chair, cracking open an eye to glare at them fondly.  “Utterly insane.”

 

The sword sliced over her head, brushing through several locks of her hair.  Had it been a sharpened metal sword, Merle had no doubt that she’d be a somewhat balder kitten.  A grin of triumph spread across her face as she realised that she’d dodged the attack, but it was short lived as a booted foot lashed out, catching her soundly in the stomach, sending her back several feet and driving air from her lungs as she sank down to her knees in pain, clutching at her abdomen.  Bastard!  Those damn boots were armoured!  Realizing her pain, Regis flashed her an apologetic look, earning himself a sharp cuff across the back of the head.

“Don’t apologize to your enemy for striking a blow.”  Dilandau barked as he walked past them, his voice carrying easily to the entire group of would be warriors who’d gathered in the gymnasium to train.  “And certainly, never apologize to an ally for their incompetence, it demeans you both.”

They’d been paired up randomly with each other, their partners shifting every few minutes to give the young general a better overall impression of their level of ability… if any.   For the past hour, they’d been training intensely, the lessons were basic, but designed to show both their skill and fitness level.

After watching Van train for years under the tutelage of Balgus, Merle had figured that she’d have at least a decent grasp of swordplay.  She’d rather quickly realized that watching it and actually wielding the weapon herself were worlds apart.  Within half an hour, she’d been panting, her fur damp with sweat.  By the end of the hour, her arms felt like lead, but at least she had the satisfaction of knowing that most of the others were in the same boat.

While most of the “students” were zaibachi, the physical hardships they’d endured had sapped away most of their reserves.  Add in the fact that almost all of them were young, in their early to mid teens, generally hailing from civilian life and it kept the class from being too skewed.  Those who happened to know what end of the sword to fight with helped those who’d never held a weapon before, and one thing that they all had in common was a burning desire to learn.  All of them sported bumps and bruises despite their best efforts, which was likely why Dilandau, for all his obvious sadism had issued them wooden practice blades.  He believed in training as if it was a real battle and refused to “coddle” any of them, seeing it as an unforgivable weakness.

Though she hated it, even Merle had to admit that getting hit hard once or twice certainly encouraged you to learn to block properly, though she could do without the bruises.  Her body was still healing from the attack, as were many of the others.  Naturally, the pale asshole just saw that as added incentive, but really, anyone who knew Dilandau wasn’t surprised in the least.  Not even Van protested the grueling pace he set for them.  He’d seen the faces of the men they were going to be battling and like his partner, had sworn to do his best to ensure that everyone had the best chance of survival he could.  They were about to fight in a war, one where their main enemies were not only seasoned soldiers but had been mystically altered so that fate would favour them on the battlefield. 

Just the thought of what was to come made Merle shiver slightly in dread and redouble her efforts.  Rising back up to her feet, she lunged at her opponent, striking at Regis’s blade before it could reach her and flashing him a grim smile.  The smile was short lived as he moved with the momentum of the attack and brought his weapon around low, striking her leg hard enough to knock her back down to the floor.  Rolling away, she avoided his follow up attack which served to soothe her pride a little, but damn her leg hurt!  At least her fur would hide the bruise, unlike the humans surrounding her who would be sporting the signs of their own little love taps for the next week.

Merle wasn’t the only one with that little balm to her pride.  Though it annoyed her to have to endure him once again, Cassian had been brought up to the fortress to continue training, showing off his superior sword skills like the stuck up fluffball he was.  At least he’ been joined by the rest of their small elite unit and they’d also picked up two young wolves from the RedPaw clan, as well as Irma.  She’d never heard of a fighting unit with so many beastkin in their ranks, and it made her smile to know that she was part of this pivotal moment in history.

She wasn’t the only one to realize the weight of the responsibility on their furry shoulders.  If they proved to be successful, then others might be permitted to join the armies of various nations as more than just cannon fodder.  They could hold rank, gain titles and most importantly, kick a little self-righteous human ass!  This bolstered the morale of the beast kin and carried them through when their expertise fell short.  All of them had a look of resolute determination on their faces. 

This was their chance to demonstrate their natural physical superiority to the humans.  Bearing faster reflexes and greater endurance, it certainly helped even the odds, and once their familiarity with the weapons grew, it would be a valuable advantage. 

News of their unusual unit had naturally travelled quickly through the flying fortress, drawing both a sizeable crowd, but also several surprising additions.  Not only did they have a good number of would be zaibachi soldiers, but several of the freidian crew and a handful of astorian soldiers who’d survived the attack had shown up to participate, or simply watch.  Most of them had never seen the sort of training Zaibach’s Copper Army had endured. 

Unsurprisingly, the Crusade crew had joined in as well, weapons in hand and eager to, as they put it “Knock the Brat around a little”.  Despite the grim nature behind the training, morale was high.  This was a rare chance for them all to vent their frustration and nervous energy in a safe and contained manner and allowed them to feel like they were accomplishing something rather than give in to despair.

Walking up and down their ranks, somehow managing to avoid the flailing weapons with uncanny ease, Dilandau called out orders, dispensed advice and consternation in equal measure, never seeming to run out of breath or things to say.  Most of the astorian soldiers looked about ready to run him through just to shut him up, but they’d all heard the wild stories regarding himself and Van.  There was also the fact that he was still sporting those huge lustrous black wings, shoving his alien heritage in everyone’s face, daring them to just try something.  No one wanted to be the one to unleash a draconian curse on themselves or their loved ones.

As for the rest, the wolf clan seemed to treat him as one of their own, calling him Nakahi rather than any of his titles, and they seemed to be the only ones to get away with it.  The Freidians regarded him with respect and no small amount of awe, while Ignis and Irma stared at him with worship shining in their eyes.

A sharp tap of the sword against her collarbone drew her attention back to the fight at hand and she snarled as Regis flashed her a warning frown.

“Pay attention.”  He hissed softly.  His own hair was matted with sweat, but he showed no sign of his exhaustion in his attacks, still pressing her hard.  “If I go easy on you, he’ll step in and wipe the floor with you.  One hundred percent, or none at all.” 

As much as she wanted to say something snide, she had better uses for the air in her lungs and swatted his sword away as she lunged at him, only to be forced to dart back less than a moment later as he again used the momentum from her strike to bring his weapon around in a tight circle and was menacing her once more.

“Move faster or he’ll take your head off.”  Merle grit her teeth in a silent snarl as Dilandau snapped from several meters away, his voice cutting easily through the din of wooden practice swords clanking against each other.  “You’re faster than him so use that to your advantage.  Keep moving, weight on the balls of your feet, harass his sides and force him into revealing an opening.  Stop aiming for his fucking sword!  It’s not your target, He is!” 

“Well his sword is trying to stab me!” She snapped angrily, once again hopping back out of Regis’ immediate reach as she glared at the source of her ire, her tail lashing back and forth sharply.  “Am I supposed to just let it?”

Shooting her a look of profound annoyance, Dilandau closed the distance between them and drew his sword from its sheath, the razor-sharp steel gleaming ominously in the light of the energist torches.  Suddenly more than a little concerned, Van broke off from where he was training with Irma and took a step forward to stop him, but a wing slapped him back soundly.

At the sound of steel being drawn, the whole class froze, unsure of how to react.  Gaddes swore under his breath, the sound surprisingly loud in the sudden silence of the gym.  Several of the astorian soldiers tensed, likely expecting the worst, their wariness echoed by the Crusade crew.  They’d all seen the albino’s temper firsthand and knew how quick he was to erupt into psychopathic violence.

“Ten gidaru says someone gets set on fire.”  Pyle murmured softly to Ort who elbowed him sharply in the ribs.  Van shot the man a dark glare and while Dilandau likely heard him, those smoldering crimson eyes of his never left his prey.

“His sword is trying to stab you is it?”  The warlord tossed his weapon down onto the mat where it landed with a rather solid thud.  Everyone looked at it for a long moment, more than half convinced that something explosive was about to happen.  When it just lay there, the room full of eyes rose up to focus once more on the general.  Tension filled the room and continued to grow as nothing happened.  Dilandau held Merles gaze as her claws unsheathed slowly as her tail began to fluff up.  Any minute now, something breathtakingly violent was going to happen, they all knew it.  The question was, how long before the explosion?

Instead of attacking, Dilandau simply crossed his arms over his chest and broke the stare, looking pointedly down at the weapon.  “I don’t see it leaping after your blood.”  He finally stated, moments before the tension in the room became utterly unbearable.  “Granted, it has killed a lot of people lately, perhaps it’s glutted on their lives.  Regis, toss your sword down.”

Knowing better than to argue, the apprentice sorcerer obeyed, flashing Merle a somewhat apologetic look as it too landed on the mat.  Once again, the sword just lay there, mocking her with its inactivity.

“That’s two weapons which seem rather uninterested in killing you.  Did you wish further demonstrations as to the fact that inanimate objects have little interest in your life?”

“….no.”  She grumbled sullenly, wanting to simultaneously melt into the floor and slice open that pale bastard’s throat.  A silvery white eyebrow rose in warning and she struggled to not roll her eyes.  “no sir.”  She amended.

“Excellent.  Now then.  Do tell the rest of us what your enemy is.  The weapon?  Or the individual wielding it?”

“The person.”

“Correct.  The weapon is just a tool and it’s only as dangerous as the person holding it.  Size up your enemy, test them out, learn their strengths, their weaknesses, their skill level.  Take Van for instance.”  He motioned for the king to step forward.  “He’s small and scrawny looking, altogether, not all that impressive.”

“Thanks.”  Van flashed his husband a slight glare, though it lacked bite.  Several of the students gathered snickered softly at the jab, the loudest two being Ignis and Irma who appeared to be thoroughly amused.  Pretending he hadn’t heard the sarcastic reply, Dilandau tilted his head to the side, baring his scarred cheek to the class.

“Despite his physical shortcomings, he’s the only person to ever lay a blade to my skin in battle.”  There was absolute silence, so much so that you could hear a pin drop as everyone stared at the wound being so brazenly displayed.  They’d all heard the tale of how the king had scarred the warlord in the early days of the war, but everyone had gone out of their way to not look at it, all too aware of how sensitive Dilandau was to the blemish to his beauty, not to mention the affront to his skill.

“So,”  Merle couldn’t quite keep the pleased purr from her voice.  “You’re saying that for all your training and experience, he’s the better swordsman?”

“I’m saying that looks can always be deceiving.  Also, that despite all of your skill and abilities, sometimes dumb luck is also a factor.”  Dilandau snapped back, his eyes narrowing dangerously as the young cat smirked at him, looking all to pleased with herself.  “Our enemies are going to have luck on their side, so no matter how good you are, don’t get cocky.”

“Ugh… one of you is enough of a nightmare.  You mean we’re gonna be fighting even more pale assed little psychos?”  Ort grumbled, tossing one of his knives in the air absently and catching it.  “Never thought we’d end up fighting a war against your kids of all things.”

“There’s nothing wrong with his children.”  Ignis snapped from where he stood near Cassian and Dumas.  “Irma and I turned out just fine.”  There was a choking sound from the direction of the Crusade crew and Merle was pretty sure that someone had just had their mouth covered to pre-emptively stop them from saying something that would get them killed. 

While she and a few others who’d been travelling with the pair weren’t surprised at the news, it seemed to be a startling revelation for a good number of people in the room and suddenly the class was abuzz with gossip and speculation.  The wolf kin present all closed ranks around the two youngsters, protecting them as members of the pack, low ominous growls reverberating through the air in warning.  Even more shockingly, the zaibachi and freidians also stepped up to defend them, eyes narrowed while hands rested on their swords.

The students all looked more than a tad confused, looking at the two “children” then Dilandau, not sure how exactly this happened in the past two colours, but willing to defend them if that was the wish of their leader.  Having all sworn themselves to him, they weren’t about to turn their back on him now simply because they didn’t understand something.  As one, they moved to stand by the others in protecting their newest comrades.

Realizing just how precarious the situation had suddenly become, Van stepped forward and with a moment’s concentration, his great white wings burst forth from his back, showering them all with a spray of feathers and claiming the attention of everyone in the room instantly.

“I am King Van Slanzer Fanel, King of Fanelia.”  He stated, as though it wasn’t painfully obvious that everyone in the room knew exactly who he was.  “I would be honoured to introduce you to Crown Prince Ignis de Flor Fanel, and Princess Irma la Luz Fanel.  They are our children and heirs.”

“But.. that’s impossible Your Highness.”  One of the astorian soldiers sputtered, unsure of who to stare at in his shock. 

“Are you calling a King a liar within his own castle?”  Van asked, his wings rising aggressively as he glared at the man, daring him to issue a challenge.  “I assure you that draconians are more than capable of the impossible, in case current events have somehow escaped your notice.”  He could practically feel Dilandau smirking through their bond, while both Ignis and Irma bore huge grins on their faces at this public display of parental protectiveness.

“Oh sweet Jeture, Van knocked up the Brat!!!”  Reeden burst out loudly, unable to contain his squeal of glee. 

“Shut the fuck up Reeden!”  Dilandau snarled, spinning around.  “Why does everyone immediately keep assuming that I was fucking pregnant!?”

“The Boss is gonna kill you Van.”  The crewman continued to snicker in delight, unable to contain himself.  While there wasn’t any spite in his words, it still earned him a sharp cuff on the back of the head from Gaddes.

“Seriously, shut the hell up or you’ll end up with a face like mine.”  The sergeant snarled softly.  That threat seemed to work, and the errant crewmen grew silent, all of them staring at the fading bruises still discolouring Gaddes’s face.  They’d all speculated on why the king had beaten the sergeant to within an inch of his life, but the man hadn’t been forthcoming with the details.  Pity no one had placed any bets on such an insane outcome.  They’d have made a small fortune.

“They are the children of Van and myself.”  Dilandau confirmed to the silent room.  “We are married according to Draconian customs and they are trueborn heirs.  They’ve also been accepted as members of the Schezar line, so if anyone has any problems with any of this, step forward now and duel me, because if I hear anyone slandering my family I will slit your throats and throw you off this fortress to feed the scavengers far below us.”

Eyes the colour of molten rubies scoured the ranks, daring anyone to step forward and challenge him.  Many shrank beneath the weight of his glare, but several of the astorian soldiers drew themselves up, squaring their shoulders and returning the look.  All was silent for several long moments, then, one of the soldiers stepped forward.  He was noble born by the looks of him, and his pale blue eyes were filled with disgust at this revelation.

“The Schezar house has indeed fallen far from its former glory.  First with Sir Allen’s promiscuous ways, and now you are bringing your deviancies out into the public eye.  Worse, you drag down the royal house of Fanelia with you.  If none will step forward to defend honour and decency, then I shall be the one to champion it.  Draw your sword demon!”

“My family is the only reason you still have a country you idiot.”  Dilandau snarled in return.  “And I don’t need a sword to defeat you.  I’m instead going to turn you into a learning experience for the others on why it’s not the weapon that matters, rather, it’s the person behind it.”  His lips twisted up into a vicious smile.  “Seeing as how we’re on Fanelian soil, are there any rules we need to be aware of for this duel?”  He favoured Van with a sweet smile which did nothing to hide the viciousness beneath.

“Soldiers are precious at the moment.”  Van replied; his voice cold as glacial ice.  “Don’t cripple him.  Otherwise, kick his ass.”

“Mmmm, your wish is my pleasure.”  The purr sent shivers down Van’s back as Dilandau licked his lips in anticipation.  At his words, everyone scrambled out of the way, none of them wanting to get caught in the crossfire. 

Several of the soldier’s friends patted him on the back, murmuring words of encouragement while others shot the man dark looks, Dilandau’s statement of having saved their country earning him a pass as far as most of them were concerned.

“Dravos, you don’t need to do this.”  One soldier cautioned the upstart.  “There’s enough people injured; we don’t need to add to the burden of the medics.”

Merle sidled over to the two children whose existence had started this whole mess.  Though she took a moment to spare a sneer for Cassian, which was met and returned with equal fervor, she spoke to Irma.

“Are you guys alright with this?  I mean… they’re about to duel over you.”  Both young royals nodded their heads and smiled slightly, not bothered in the least by the violence about to take place.

“Father needs to make a point about us.”  Ignis pointed out with a shrug as he watched the two combatants take their places in the center of the room, his orange gold eyes intense.  By his side, Irma nodded her head and grinned, displaying her sharp teeth.  Her pupils narrowed down to slits, then widened drinking in the light as they focussed on the violence about to take place.

“They swore to defend us until we could defend ourselves.”  She sounded proud of this and Merle bit back a rather unsurprised sigh.  Yup, that sounded like Van at least.  Not that it was a bad thing, in fact, she was rather proud that he was so quick to defend his children despite the political nightmare this all likely was for him.  She simply wished that he’d gotten a little bit of Folken’s subtlety.  This likely wasn’t going to be their last fight.  “Oh, is that man taking bets?”  Irma seemed to perk up as she caught site of Ort slipping through the crowd.  “You there!  I have a ruby I want to bet on my father beating that idiot into a coma!”  Yup, she was definitely Dilandau’s kid and Merle couldn’t help but snicker a little at her crassness.  It was rather endearing as far as she was concerned.

Ort dutifully paused at her cry and looked at the nearly palm sized gem she was holding up, blinking several times in shock.  He’d never seen a jewel as large or as beautiful as this one was.  The look was quickly followed by despair.

“Look kid, ain’t you got something smaller?  No way I can pay that out if he wins.”  Irma fixed him with a cold reptilian glare, forcing him to amend his statement.  “Er… when he wins.”  The utterly crestfallen look on the dragon-girl made Merle wish that she had some portable money to lend her, even if it did mean betting for the psycho.

“Fifty gidaru on the general.”  Cassian spoke up, butting in between them.  “In the name of Irma laLuz Fanel.”  He flashed her a gallant grin as he handed over a bag heavy with coin which had Ort practically drooling over.  Even Merle was shocked to see so much money so casually handed over.

“You don’t have to, I have money.”  Irma protested, looking back down at her gem, looking worried that her lovely treasure wasn’t worth what she’d thought it might be.  Reaching over, Cassian gently closed her fingers over her gem and smiled, his long fluffy tail gently brushing across the backs of his legs.

“I can see that My Lady, but that treasure can be spent on much grander things than a bet.  It’s worth far more than any here can afford.”  Merle couldn’t help but bristle as how disgustingly courtly he sounded, and she felt a growl welling up in her throat.  Though his ears flicked back in her direction, he otherwise ignored her in favour of Irma’s wide grin.

“Sucking up because she’s a princess?  Or because she’s your boss’s daughter?”  Merle hissed softly, her own tail lashing back and forth.  Glancing over his shoulder, Cassian favoured her with a look of utter condescension.

“Helping out a teammate.  Something you might wish to look into as our lives will soon be in one another’s hands.”  He replied smoothly.  “And you really should be paying attention to the duel seeing as how the demonstration is in a large part for you.  Unless you enjoy indulging in your inadequacies?”    Yup, killing was too good for him.  She’d have to find something worse, something she could truly savour.

“Soooo married?”  Gaddes leaned over to murmur to Van as the two opponents squared off against each other, the spectators already cheering for violence and blood, as if they weren’t already glutted on both.  Though Van stiffened slightly at his proximity, he didn’t attack, which as far as Gaddes was concerned, was a good sign.

“Yes, married and before you ask, Allen not only knows, he’s given us his blessing.”

“Three days ago you were still courting… not sure about Fanelian royal engagements, but Astorian ones usually take more than three days.”  The wings rose up slightly as Van fixed him with a cold look, causing Gaddes to wince back.  He truly did miss the easy comradery the two of them had shared prior to this mess.  Worse, he knew that he only had himself to blame. 

His instincts warned him to just back off and give the prickly king some space.  Van had every reason to run him through for his earlier actions and the ache in his face added weight to that knowledge.

“Sorry, I’m just curious.  I just… I want the best for you both.  You two have been through hell and you deserve a break.”

“We’ve learned what happens when we lower our guard.”  Van replied as the astorian soldier drew his sword and swung at his lover.  A smile tugged at the king’s lips as he watched Dilandau neatly step inside the swing and soundly punch Dravos in the gut hard enough to send him reeling back several feet.

Noting the barb for what it was, Gaddes took a moment to study the smile, observing how strange and alien it looked on the king’s face.  Van had never been one for shows of senseless violence.  At his heart, he was a peaceful person who wanted to just be left alone.  This Van however looked perfectly at home surrounded by a cheering mob calling for blood, watching the man he professed to love punch an armed soldier soundly across the face before bending nearly double as a sword slashed by less than an inch from his nose.

“I’m sorry Van, from the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.”

“You know,”  Van mused softly, his eyes never once leaving the fight.  “Dilandau always says that apologies are insulting, and I never truly understood his view on that until recently.  Prince Chid… you.  You say the words and in retrospect, you might even mean it, but in the end, you’d made your choice.  Feeling bad about it doesn’t erase your actions.  It doesn’t heal the wounds you left or what you stripped from him.  You’re not sorry for what you did, you’re sorry that it didn’t turn out the way you wanted.”

“I know… I fucked up in every way possible… is there any way he’ll ever forgive me?  That you’ll forgive me?”  Pulling his attention away from the fight, Van fixed Gaddes with an icy cold glare.  It was so cold and impersonal that it made something deep inside his guts twist.

“Why should we?  You betrayed our trust in the worst possible way and then you repay us with words.  Your word means shit to me now Gaddes, and it means even less to him.  Just do the job he expects of you.  Stay out of his way and make the survival of this team your priority rather than attempting to rebuild something you destroyed.”

There was nothing he could say to that, so instead he watched the last of the dragonslayers teasing the armed soldier who was doing his level best to kill him.  It was painfully obvious that the fight could be ended at any time, but Dilandau was drawing it out, prolonging the show for not only his students, but for anyone else who might get it into their heads to challenge him. 

He moved like the wind, sliding around the swinging weapon, getting around Dravos’ guard repeatedly, striking at his joints, at nerve clusters, but never hard enough to cripple the man or cause him to drop his weapon.  It was like watching a cat playing with a mouse or wolves harrying their prey.  The goal wasn’t to go in for the kill… not yet.  It was to exhaust him until he couldn’t even raise his blade in his own defense, to drive home exactly how powerless he was in the albino’s clutches despite being armed.

Gaddes would have thought that those great bloody wings would have been a hinderance, but Dilandau instead turned them into an asset, lashing out with the powerful limbs, striking with them strategically before snapping them back and tucking them tightly against himself.  A huge grin split his face nearly in half and it was obvious that he was enjoying the sadistic game.

“Is he going to kill him?”  The sergeant couldn’t quite keep himself from asking.  Without taking his eyes off the brutal ballet of pain, Van shook his head.

“Of course not.”  There was no doubt at all in Van’s voice, even as a wing strike hit the soldier in the back of the head, sending him reeling.  The man’s swings were wild now and uncoordinated, exhaustion taking its toll.  “We need the soldiers and he knows that.”

“Yeah… well experience has shown that long term strategy isn’t his strong point once he gets going.”

“He’s still perfectly calm, this is just a bit of fun for him, and a lesson for the others.”

“Did you happen to forget that little detail of him being utterly and violently insane?”

“You never gave him enough credit.”  Van’s eyes flickered in his direction for a moment before returning to the fight.  “He knows his limits; he just needs someone to trust in him and understand him.”

“He’s a berserker Van.”

“Trust in him to know his own mind Gaddes.  Not doing that is what drove you to throw him away.  I’m not going to repeat your mistakes.”

“You’re putting a lot of lives on the line with that trust.”

“That trust is going to save Gaea.”

“Or see it reduced to ash.”  Van didn’t reply to that.  Instead, he smiled and watched as Dilandau spun around, the sword thrust narrowly missing gutting him by less than an inch.  Driving his elbow hard into his opponent’s stomach, he then delivered a sharp uppercut to the jaw, stunning him before grabbing hold of the back of the man’s neck and dropping down onto one knee.  The momentum sent Dravos spinning over his back to land hard on the floor, the fight, and the wind knocked out of him.

Smiling, Dilandau stepped onto his fallen adversary’s wrist, pinning his weapon hand to the ground before lazily reaching down and picking up the sword and placing it against the soldier’s throat.

“Do you yield?”  His voice was soft, but carried well as everyone fell silent, listening to hear those final damning words.  Unfortunately, that last blow had emptied Davos’ lungs, leaving him unable to speak, so instead, while wheezing pathetically, he gave the weakest of nods.

The smile grew wider as Dilandau then looked to Van.

“What does the King say?  Does he accept the surrender?”

“Let him live.”  Van decreed, playing his part with no small amount of amusement.  “He fought well and has earned his life.  If in the future he chooses once again to slander the good name of my family, he will find neither of us quite so forgiving.”  White wings opened wide for a moment, reminding everyone here of just who and what he was… as if they could ever truly forget.

Nodding his head, Dilandau reached down and helped the fallen man to his feet.  Thoroughly chastised, Dravos accepted the aid and was hauled to his feet with surprising strength.

“Insult my family or challenge me again and I will show you why this entire world fears draconians.”  The albino hissed softly, his words drowned out by the cheer of the crowd, though they carried just far enough for Dravos to hear.  Whether it was his words, his tone, or the fact that his eyes betrayed an inhuman glow in their depths, the soldier paled and nodded his head.  When his sword was pressed once more into his hands, he swore down to his very soul that he would never move against these terrifying creatures ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to show the growth and how some of these characters had changed over the course of my stories, and how their interactions have matured. This is planned to be the last really introspective chapter for a while because things are about to get nasty for everyone! YAY! Are we ready for battle? Are we ready for blood!? WOOT! Fire season is starting where I live and I plan on being well into the thick of things when ash starts falling from the sky.  
> Next Chapter: Smiles and Knives


	6. The Enemy of my Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Necessity makes strange bedfellows as Basram begins to move, leaving the other countries scrambling to prepare for the worst. Our heroes are given a difficult choice. Will it lead to victory, or make matters even worse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to me! As my birthday gift to me, I'm getting this damn nightmare of a chapter posted! YAY! Seriously, I rewrote this thing so many times that I've lost count. So many scenes either scrapped or moved around, characters added and removed. Pretty sure I rewrote it all about three times.. ugh. BUT!!! I'm happy with the result and am already cackling with glee as I watch the madness begin to unfold.  
> Sorry about the overly long delay. It won't happen again.

               The morning sun was slowly inching above the horizon, turning the rice patty fields to molten gold.  Dawn prayers had just begun and the citizens of Shuruat were kneeling, facing the small and humble shrine which served as the heart of the village.  A draconian woman sculpted from river clay and lovingly painted was kneeling humbly, her hands held out before her, wings tucked in delicately behind her.  Some of the local children had woven a garland of flowers from the nearby jungle and draped it about her shoulders; a token of love and adoration for their Lady of the Harvest.

               They would need her favour for the coming harvest as the rice currently growing in the patties which surrounded the village were vital for the survival of the kingdom.  So much had been lost when the Destiny War had come to Freid, moving out of the shadows and openly casting its vile cloak of death across Gaea.  It had struck vicious blows against their country, their faith and the lives of all those who dwelt within the Sacred Lands.   Everyone had felt the wounds of war on their souls and not a single family was left untouched. 

While the loss of life had struck them deeply, it was nothing compared to the unfathomable suffering of those who’d survived the darkness and were now faced with the enormity of the task ahead of them. Rebuilding what had been lost.

Prayers which had once beseeched the Ancient ones for enlightenment and serenity now begged for a good harvest, so their children didn’t starve.  They pleaded for answers until their voices gave out and wailed at the losses of life which still cut deeply at the heart of the once proud country.  What had once been a paradise had now become a slowly evolving hell, killing them all with disease and exhaustion, with hunger and despair.  

Not only did they have to endure the coming rainy season, rife with floods and sickness, but they had to gather enough to support their less than fortunate brothers and sisters in areas which had been more directly affected by the war.  It didn’t matter that they were all sick and starved, that there weren’t enough hands to harvest the fields properly.  Rich and poor, young and old, the sick and the maimed, all slogged through the muddy fields, stooped over for hours on end to tend to the delicate harvest on which so much depended.

This harvest would mean either prosperity and hope or spell the beginning of a terrible famine for Freid and many other kingdoms.  As such, when they weren’t dutifully tending to their patties, they were praying for the Ancients to send them good fortune with obsessive intensity.  As such, there were no guards posted on the perimeters of the villages.  The watchtowers were unmanned and derelict.  All hands were needed in the fields, none could be spared.  In their minds, there was little danger behind this choice.  After all, everyone knew how vital this harvest was for Gaea.  Who would dare put it at risk?

               Small bowls of dried fruit, some seeds and stone carvings had been placed around the base of the statue as offerings and their heartfelt chanting songs echoed through the air.  Occasionally, a bird or distant saurian predator would add their voice to the chorus, but to the worshippers, that simply served to enhance to their prayers, reminding them that despite all of the recent horrors, they were all still connected with the vibrant life around them.  After all, it was not merely their own prosperity they prayed for, but that of all of Gaea.

               This was harmony, this was peace and balance.  Just knowing this, feeling this tenuous unity with the world around them began to rebuild their hope.  It was a hope which would grow with every sunrise, with every grain harvested, and every belly filled… so when they heard the first shrieks of terrified birds taking wing, their prayers faltered. 

Nervous eyes glanced around, seeking the source of the disturbance.  Mothers drew their children closer while elders murmured anxiously.  The few men remaining in the village cautiously rose to their feet, sharing weighted looks with each other.  This might be a peaceful village, but the shadow of the war still hung heavy in their hearts.

               The birds darkened the sky in the east, so many that their winged forms resembled smoke, causing more than one villager to whisper a soft prayer.  As the last of their chanting faded away, they could now hear the shattering of distant trees.  The ominous sound chilled them to their bones, made worse by the knowledge that it was growing louder with every passing moment.  Something large was heading steadily towards them.  Several somethings, and not one person was foolish enough to believe that it had their best interests at heart.

               Being a farming village, Shuruat didn’t have weapons or armor for the defenders to grab.  Instead, they gathered their farming tools.  Hoes, shovels and simple machetes were passed around to anyone old enough to hold them.  Trembling hands clenched their makeshift weapons as the defenders made ready to stand their ground and defend the future.  All were fully aware of how paltry they were compared to whatever was coming but knowing that they had to do something.  Had the rice patties not been so precious, they would have retreated, choosing their life over this doomed defense, but the rest of Freid was depending on them and other small villages like them.  To run simply meant a slower death. 

The sound of crashing grew louder and now they could see the tops of the trees swaying moments before they crumbled to the ground.  The earth beneath their feet seemed to tremble, as if dreading what was to come just as much as the villagers.

While the defenders raised their improvised weapons, the elders walked around them, sprinkling them with water from the villages well, chanting soft prayers, beseeching the Ancients to bless them and the purity of their purpose.  As each defender was sprinkled with the blessed water, their trembling diminished and they took deep bracing breaths, trying to draw upon the strength of Gaea and her ancient creators.

 Though their faith was strong, their hearts were heavy.  As such, the blessings merely conveyed a fragile sort of courage and it nearly shattered when the last of the screen of trees fell, revealing their attackers in all their terrible glory. 

A machine burst out through the green wall of the jungle, crushing trees beneath its massive weight.  Looking more like a wheel-less carriage than any sort of melef, it bore the banner of two snow white serpents facing each other on a crimson background.  Basram.  But the neighbouring country was their ally, so why march on this small village?

Confusion caused the men to lower their weapons and glance at each other nervously, unsure of how to proceed.  None wished a fight if it could be avoided, but there was a heaviness to the air around them, a chill deep inside their guts which warned them that danger approached. 

Behind the vehicle came the soldiers. Marching in endless ranks of ten abreast, their dark green armour blending in with the jungle around them and gleaming dully as they stepped out into the sun.  Travelling on the thin road which traversed the marshy patties of rice, the dull rhythmic fall of their footsteps seemed to echo ominously.

The eldest of the village squared his shoulder and stepped towards the approaching army, holding his hands wide in a gesture of peace, showing that he was unarmed save for his walking staff.

“I am Amal, elder of Shuruat Vill-”  His words were cut off by a flurry of arrows which suddenly sprouted from him.  There was no warning, no hesitation.  One moment, he’d stood there in the center of the road, preparing to welcome these strangers into their village, the next, he was sinking down to his knees, blood pouring from two dozen shafts which pierced his flesh.

Everyone stood stunned by the sudden and seemingly senseless violence, unable to react.  The vehicle never stopped, it didn’t even slow down as it ran over the elder, crushing what little life remained in his body.  The soldiers trod over his remains as if he was nothing but dirt on the path, continuing their relentless approach.

Another barrage of arrows filled the sky, darkening the dawn as they rained death upon the villagers.  Still in shock, everyone looked up, watching their approaching death with glassy eyes and one by one, men were struck down from afar by their killers, falling to the ground, clutching at wounds and screaming. 

A youth, barely out of childhood stood frozen in horror at the sudden and unprovoked brutality, urine soaked the front of his pants, tricking down his leg.  He barely felt the hot slash of an arrow slice across his arm, grazing his flesh while another tore through his scalp, taking off half of his ear.  His machete fell from nerveless fingers as he stared at the relentlessly marching death which closed the distance between them one marching step at a time. 

He thought of his aging mother and older sister who were even now racing into the jungles to hide, to hopefully make it to the nearest neighbouring village and warn them.  Chances of them making it were slim, the jungles had grown more dangerous over the past few colours, the predators were bolder, hungrier, and the way was treacherous.  Still, he found himself tearing his eyes away from the oncoming army to spare one last look at the village shrine, at the beautiful winged Child of the Ancients who continued to smile benignly beneath her garlands of flowers.

“Please… please hear my prayers…”  He found himself whispering.  Dimly, he could hear a hundred bowstrings being drawn back, the hiss of a hundred arrows being shot into the sky followed by the screams of his kinsmen as the lethal rain began to land among them once more.  “Please don’t let this be the end of us.” 

Pain tore through him as the arrows found their marks in his flesh, burying themselves deeply, but he refused to tear his gaze away.  “Lady of the Harvest… Children of Atlantis…please…Please save us.”  His body grew heavy and weak as he sank down to the ground, his head resting on the cool earth. 

The marching footsteps sounded like a heartbeat, one he could feel down into his bones as they drew closer.  He no longer felt the fear of the inevitable, no longer felt the pain of his mortal wounds of the weakness of his life being drained from his body in a bloody torrent.  The screams of his brethren didn’t reach his ears.  All that mattered was the single dark feather he saw floating down from the sky, so delicate and beautiful.  Reaching out his hand, he tried to grasp it, but it crumbled to ash on the wind and darkness claimed him. 

The sun finally cleared the horizon, shining down upon the fallen village and its killers, making the rice patties glisten like diamonds.

 

 

                “My Duke!  You must make a decision!”  General Vijun snapped impatiently from where he knelt across from the boy.  “Our borders have come under attack!  We can’t hold the line without reinforcements from our allies.  We simply don’t have the men or the weapons to last.”  Stoking his beard, he glared at the map of the kingdom laid out between them all.  Small stone carvings marked the encroaching enemy forces while delicately rounded and polished pieces of wood represented villages.  The feather markers for their own forces were pathetically small in the face of the opposition. 

“Why would Basram of all people be attacking us?”  Councillor Tungar looked at the prince, then the general, his eyes wide with fear as he struggled to understand the impossible situation.  Waving his hand at the table, as if the frustrated gesture might somehow change what all of them could see. “We’re allies!  We’ve always been allies!”

“It must be a trick.”  Councillor Rajit cut in, stroking his beard thoughtfully.  “It is no doubt those escaped prisoners seeking to turn us against our neighbours.  They are Zaibachi after all and led by the Demon Himself.  Hardly surprising that they would choose such foul tactics as this… slaughtering innocents in their thirst for blood and war.

“Enough.”  Though Prince Chid didn’t raise his voice, it’s youthful pitch easily cut through the din of the lower and more mature voices arguing around him.  Silence fell around the table as all eyes turned to face the child who sat at the head of the table, staring down at the map thoughtfully.

His expression was hidden from view by a heavy veil which obscured his face, leaving him blinded to the world around him.  Only his mouth was visible, his lips pressed into a thin line as he studied the situation which was rapidly consuming the borders of his kingdom.

“But sire, the prisoners-”

“The prisoners have fled to Astoria and I would point out that not one of them raised a hand against the Freidian people.  They carried themselves with far more honour than their captors, which is something which shall stain all of Freid for some time.”  Chid’s veiled head rose as he seemed to study each man at his table, finding them unerringly despite his lack of sight.  “We were the ones who breached their trust, we were the ones who tore the soul from their leader and unleashed a demon upon us.  They warned us of our hubris, the Children of the Ancients themselves warned us repeatedly, but we were deaf to their words.  Let’s not heap more lies upon them and place blame where it is truly due.”

Though painfully young and still untried as a leader, the sheer force of his personality kept the much older men around him silent as they all contemplated what he’d just said. 

“They both spoke to us repeatedly of Basram’s plans, they had come to us specifically to bring that warning despite the danger.  Now, for a second time, the alarm is being sounded, only this time by our own people.  I might be blind gentlemen, but even I can see the obvious when it is presented to me.”

“But what do they want?  Why do this?”  The men all looked at each other for answers, seeking the logic in this act of madness.

“They want war.”  Chid spoke softly, staring down once more at the table and its markers.  “They never woke up from their battlefield dream of glory and it’s consumed them.  They wish to rule all of Gaea and to do that, they will need food and men.  We might not have the men any longer, not in the numbers they require, but we have the food.”  He reached out a hand and motioned towards the eastern borders of Freid as laid out on the map.  “They’ve attacked the rice fields just before the harvest, but not burned them and moved forward.  They’re holding their position.”

“They seek to hold our food hostage.”  General Vijun agreed, nodding his head thoughtfully even as his stomach churned at the idea of such cowardice and cruelty.  “With that, they can demand our surrender and weaken the other countries… They’ll starve them out over the course of the winter.”

“Which means we need to break the lines before the rains begin.”  Councillor Rajit leaned back in his chair, studying the map carefully.  “We would need an army for such a feat.”

“Or an exceptionally skilled squad, trained in guerilla tactics.”  The general frowned as he spoke, realizing that they had no such group.  Anyone coming close to possessing such abilities had been killed during the war.  Zaibach had marked their targets well when they’d struck, intending to bring the country utterly to their knees.  Their brutality and success would likely be felt for generations to come.

“We need a miracle.”  Monk Joran spoke up from where he sat quietly in the corner, apart from the others and their talk of war.  Thin legs crossed in a lotus position, the backs of his hands resting lightly on his knees, he appeared to be deep in meditation.  Not even his eyes opened as he spoke to the group in a soft voice which managed to still capture the attention of every man in the room.  “The Ancients act in mysterious ways and often we simple folk fail to fully understand their teachings, but one thing we do know is that nothing is absolute.  No victory nor failure is forever.  There is always a chance at forgiveness if one truly seeks it with all of their heart.  There is always a way forward even on the darkest path.

Rajit, who had been pacing around the table while the monk spoke froze in shock and spun around to stare at the holy man, hardly daring to realize what had just been suggested.  Rather than argue, seeming to realize the impossible choice ahead of them, he took a deep breath and with careful motions, resumed his seat.  Everyone else stared silently at the young prince, the air heavy with expectation. 

While he couldn’t see their eyes boring holes into him, Chid could certainly feel it.   He knew what was being asked of him and how impossible it was.

“Are you sure of this course of action Monk Joran?”  He asked all but whispered.  “I told them never to set foot within this country again.”  As he spoke, he closed his eyes tightly, doing his best to blot out the sight of that maddened crimson stare, look of utter betrayal on the face of his friend and the mad laughter as Regent Ishaan was burned alive.  “They have no reason to aid us after what we did.”

“They have every reason to aid us.”  General Vijun argued gently, seeing the wisdom behind the monk’s suggestion.  “They are relying on our harvests to see them through the winter.  Without them, Astoria, Fanelia, even Zaibach will starve.

“You’re asking a demon to see reason!”  Councillor Tungar pointed out sharply, jabbing his fingertip at the map.  “Look at the damage he’s caused this country already!  Do we really wish to welcome him back with open arms?  What will it cost us this time!?”

“Less than not asking for his aid.”  Vijun watched the others out of the corner of his eye, studying their reactions.  “And I am suggesting we ask a Child of the Ancients to see reason.  If the demon follows him, so be it.  It is a risk we’re taking, but necessary.  Our spies have reported that Palas itself has come under attack.  We haven’t sorted through or confirmed all the details, but from initial reports, casualties are high.  If we cannot appeal to King Aston, then appeal to King Van and Sir Allen.  They will see the cost of this war as well as we do.”

“Monk Jaron.”  Chid began, pausing to moisten suddenly dry lips with his tongue.  “You told me not long ago that doing nothing was far worse than making the wrong choice.  I thoughtlessly ignored that advice and it nearly cost us everything.  I will not repeat my foolishness.”  Rising to his feet, Chid stood there for a moment, staring at his council. “Sent a messenger to Palas asking for aid.  Specify that we require King Van should he be so disposed to aid us and promise increased shipments of food to Fanelia should he agree.”

“Your Majesty!  We’ll require that food for our own people!”

“We either share some of what we have and survive with less than the whole, or we receive none of it.  I am hardly of the belief that Basram intends to share with us.”  Chid shot back coolly.  Councillor Tundar opened his mouth to argue once again, but General Vijun rested a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

“I shall see to it myself Your Highness.”  He replied, bowing deeply.  The council followed suit.  Nodding his head, Chid turned away from the table and headed to the garden to meditate.

So many thoughts spun around in his head, so many doubts and fears that it felt as if he had a crowd of people screaming inside of him, each one demanding their opinion be heard.

Familiarity guided him where his eyes could not, and he soon found himself kneeling at the base of a statue of an Ancient wreathed in rose bushes.  Memory told him that war scorched wings were spread open wide as if preparing to launch into the air, yet an expression of utter peace filled the ancient Atlantean’s face.

The scent of the roses filled his nose and he smiled softly despite himself.  Closing his eyes, he drank it in, focussing on the sounds of the birds and insects who called the garden home, welcoming them as a part of himself.

“It takes a brave man to admit his mistakes.”  Monk Jaron spoke as he approached unobtrusively and knelt behind the young prince.  “It takes an even braver man to own up to them and move forward despite the pain in his soul.”

“Do you believe that it was the correct choice?”  Chid found himself asking before drawing in another deep lungful of flower-scented air.

“It is not my place to say My Lord.  What matters if is you believe that you’ve made the correct choice.  All we can do is advise you in your search for wisdom.”  They both knelt in silence for several long seconds, drinking in the calm serenity of the garden before the man spoke again.  “The path set before you is a most difficult one, but necessary if we wish to survive.  The darkest paths in the jungle often yield the most surprising results.  Sometimes for good, other times for ill, all we can do is move forward and learn what we can.”  The monk smiled softly, closing his eyes and drinking in the gentle warmth of the light breeze blowing across the garden.  “Not everything we see with our eyes is true, as you’ve recently had the pain of learning.  We must see with our hearts and our minds acting as one, balancing out what we know and what we feel.  King Van has always acted honourably towards us and he has grown most formidable since the war.  Despite the hardships they both endured, they were both instrumental in saving Palas and it’s people.”

“And instrumental in destroying ours.”  Chid sighed softly then clenched his small fists tightly.  “Forgive me, that was uncalled for.  We were the cause of our own suffering, one does not wound a dragon then vilify it for attacking.  You’re right, Van has been nothing but a hero to us.  Over and over he’s done everything in his power and beyond to aid us, never expecting or receiving a reward… yet here we are again, asking him to sacrifice himself for us.  Do we truly have the right to do so?”

“Only he can make that choice.”  The kindly monk replied gently.  “He is the best of us.  He is the hope for a better tomorrow despite the pains of his past.”

 Chid couldn’t help but smile sadly as he pictured his friend; so stoic and fierce, but shy and vulnerable all at once.  Still, it was impossible to forget the look of agony in Van’s eyes or the way he’d clutched at the demon’s feather around his neck, how betrayed he’d been by the one he’d called friend. 

“What I did to him… it was horrible.  We don’t deserve his help after all of that.”

“That is up to him to decide Your Majesty, but you must still give him that choice.  If you do not, then you will never know.  However, despite the pain in his heart, I do not believe that he’d ever willingly turn his back on those in need.” 

“I truly hope so.”  Sighing heavily, Chid rose to his feet, taking a moment to lightly slap the wrinkles from his clothes.  “I will compose a message for him.  I’ll send my fastest courier.  I… I only hope that we’re not too late.” 

               “It is never too late to make the right choice.”  Monk Joran opened his eyes and looked fondly at the young boy in front of him, forced to grow up far before his time.  “It is only when we do nothing that we truly fail.”  He watched as the young duke bowed his veiled head, humbled by the wisdom of his elder.  “I believe that your Father would be truly proud of you today.”

               “Thank you, Monk Joran.  That means more than words can say.” The man bowed deeply and backed away as Chid continued to stare up at the statue, a faint smile tugged at his lips.  “It might be too late to change the past… but perhaps… perhaps it’s not too late to build a new future.”  He murmured to the stone draconian.

              

 

               “They found the bodies of the missing Knights Caeli.”  Dryden stated to the assembled at the table, his voice purposefully devoid of emotion though his eyes smoldered with rage.  “Poison.”  Almost everyone stiffened at his words and glanced at each other suspiciously.  “Their bodies were found this morning in a collapsed section of the palace by a group clearing away the rubble.”

               “Adding more bodies to your list Albatou?”  Unsurprisingly, General Malenchamp sneered at the zaibachi youth, radiating hostility with every ounce of his being.

               “Oh yes, because I have SUCH a reputation for poisons.”  Dilandau yawned, utterly uninterested in the current topic of discussion.  “Honestly General, if I was going to murder the Knights Caeli, I’d make the event into a grand spectacle- ouch!”  He shot a glare at Van who had pointedly kicked him under the table.

               “What he means to say General, is that he has had no reason to attack anyone in Palas, nor has he been out of anyone’s sight long enough to do so.”  Van returned Dilandau’s glare with one of his own, warning the other teen to not cause trouble during the council session.

               “I can speak for my damn self.”

               “Clearly not very well.”  A sharp rap of knuckles against the table interrupted the argument before it could gain any momentum and Dryden stood up, surveying all of those gathered at the table.

               “Agreed, General Albatou is in no way a suspect in their deaths.”  The King Apparent stated in a voice which left no room for discussion.  “What it does however mean is that the perpetrator is still at large and possibly still within the castle.

               “Interesting isn’t it that The General and King were themselves poisoned before their abduction, an act which would have required inside sources, and now the Knights Caeli have fallen victim as well.”  General Teatame murmured thoughtfully as he stroked his beard.  “As they were then intentionally placed in a room which was rather pointedly destroyed, it stands to reason that this was planned out well in advance.  Add in the fact that it was the Catacombs which were the secondary target in this attack and the only conclusion which can be drawn is that it is someone who has a vast knowledge of the palace.”  He frowned thoughtfully at this.  “The only people who have such a knowledge of the Catacombs are the Royals themselves, yet all of the Royals were in equal danger and only escaped through sheer chance and the blessings of Jeture, so we need to look into who else might know such secrets.”

               “The last time any work was done on the Catacombs was over a century ago.”  Princess Eries spoke up, her voice soft and demure as always, the very perfection of an Astorian lady of breeding, though her eyes were as cold as glacial ice.  “The work was performed by Master Mason Jules Carter who has been dead for eighty-five years.  He and his family all perished during the Dragon Breath Plague.  He has no known living relatives.”

               “What of his apprentices?”  Sibille’s sharp voice was a perfect contrast to that of the Princess.  Her harsh accent making her words sound abrasive to astorian ears.  “There’s no way he did the work by himself.”

               “His apprentices were all given small sections to work on.”  Dryden replied.  “They would have been led with their workers blindfolded through the catacombs to and from their specified locations.  Different routes would have been taken each time to prevent memorization.  We are nothing if not thorough.”

               “Not thorough enough.”  She sneered, crossing her arms over her chest and toying with the ends of her hair.  “The secret still got out.”

               “Wait a minute.”  Dilandau leaned forward, a smile spreading across his lips and a familiar light smoldering in his eyes, eager like a wolf who’d just scented blood on the wind.  “You said that guards escorted the workers, even if they took different routes each time, the escorts would still know the way in and out.  It’s hardly as if you’d have had the Royals themselves escorting lowly tradesmen in and out of the catacombs all day.”  He grinned over at the Princess who’d grown pale at his words.

               “The… the guards chosen were Knights Caeli!”  Outrage filled her voice and General Malenchamp shot to his feet, his face red as a beet.  “What are you implying, you honourless beast!?”

               “Over the course of my life, I’ve found the beastkin clans to be on the whole, a rather honourable sort.”  That pale knife edged grin grew wider and crimson eyes narrowed dangerously as he leaned forward, tapping his fingers lightly across the tabletop impatiently. “It’s the humans who continue to disappoint me on a regular basis.”  His words were further underscored by Rhusha’s low growl.

               Holding up a hand, Dryden commanded silence at the table, and much to everyone’s surprise, received it.  While both Dilandau and Malenchamp continued to glare at each other, further outbursts ceased, causing Van to mouth him a silent “Thank you”.  Taking a deep and somewhat bracing breath, Dryden looked at Dilandau.

               “You’re implying that one of the Knights Caeli, the most trusted men in all of Astoria defied orders and kept a copy of the map of the catacombs?”

               “And passed it along as a family secret through the generations, yes.  I suppose it’s always possible that someone stole the map off him, copied it, and then returned it without him knowing… though doubtful.  That map would have been guarded like the priceless treasure it was.”

               “Sacrilage!”  Malenchamp pounded the table furiously.  “I will not hear of such slanderous lies!”

               “Did you have a better line of reasoning?”  Dilandau drawled teasingly, earning himself a look which promised a slow and torturous death.  It was a look he was well acquainted with and had little fear of.

               “Why though?”  General Teatame mused, considering the words of the young general.  “Why would a knight forsake his most sacred vows and commit such a betrayal?”

               “Blackmail, jealousy, ambition.”  Sibille replied, spouting out the reasons off the top of her head as she released her lock of hair with a slight flourish, causing Van to frown slightly.  “Hells, even foolishly trusting the lovingly murmured words of a pretty girl.  Men so rarely think with the right head.  Manipulating them is easy.”

               “Mind your words woman.”  General Altreides finally spoke up, shooting her a dark glare of warning, one which she utterly ignored.

               “It explains why the knights were killed.  The explosion underground proved that their presence wouldn’t have changed the outcome in the end.  One of them was the leak and was silenced to cover up his betrayal.  After all, it’s one thing to share secrets with a foreign power, but quite another to stay quiet when your city falls into flames.”  Van couldn’t help but grit his teeth at her words, remembering how his own brother had managed to do exactly that.  Worse in fact, as he’d masterminded the hunt for his own brother for colours before finally having a change of heart.  It hurt to be hit once again with the knowledge that he in fact knew almost nothing about his late brother, a man he’d once worshipped as a living god.

               “So the trail is a dead end.”  Princess Eries murmured softly, more to herself than anyone else in the room.  Though her face remained stoic, her slender hands clenched tightly into fists.  While everyone else in the room shifted uncomfortably at the pronouncement, Sibille shook her head. 

               “One false trail doesn’t mean the hunt’s over.”  The smile spreading across her face boded ill for her chosen prey.  “You Astorians give in too quickly.  An operation like this requires more than one person, and as soon as more than one person gets involved, the chances of something being overlooked or a thread left dangling doubles.  Multiple poisonings, kidnappings, bombings, and surprise attacks, our enemies are stretching themselves thin and are pulling in a lot of resources.  There’s no way they can cover all of this up.  We simply have to locate the weak links, the loose threads… and exploit them.”

               “Speaking from experience?”  Malenchamp sneered suspiciously at her, though further remarks were cut short by Teatame leaning forward, respect shining in his eyes as he studied the woman in front of him in a new light. 

               “You have a unique viewpoint of the situation and we would be fools to ignore your insight.”  He stated, earning a slight smile from Sibille, though only the most generous would call it a friendly one.  “Would you be willing to work with my spymaster in seeking out these traitors?  I loathe the idea of anyone vital to the welfare of our country returning to the palace, knowing that such blackguards wander freely.”

               “Instead we invite them to our council sessions.”  Malenchamp muttered under his breath.  Everyone chose to ignore him.

               “That depends.”  Sibille replied, for once sounding perfectly cool and professional, earning herself a raised eyebrow from Dryden.  Unable to help himself, he leaned forward slightly, always a sucker for a good bargaining session.  The older generals all sputtered in shock, unable to quite comprehend the idea of anyone daring to attempt to bargain with the king of Astoria in such a way.  “I don’t answer to you, I answer to King Van and.. ugh… General Albatou.”  She shot Dilandau a dark look, which he returned with a smug smile.  “They decide which duties they wish me to make a priority, especially as this doesn’t directly affect their safety.”

               “Not affect their safety?  They were poisoned and kidnapped by these foul fiends!”  General Altreides snapped indignantly, to which Sibille merely leaned back in her chair and smiled smugly.

               “Ah, so now we’re admitting that my Lords were attacked and forcibly taken from within the palace walls?  That’s good to know.  I trust the accusations of my General being a traitor and nothing but a bloodthirsty monster will stop then, now that we’re acknowledging that they were both as much a victim as your King Himself.”

               Dryden had to fight to keep a delighted laugh from bursting from his lips, especially as he saw the poleaxed expressions on his war council’s faces.  Even Van and Dilandau looked rather surprised.  It appeared that neither of them had expected such support from the woman who seemed to loathe everyone.

               “Find the traitor Sibille.”  Van ordered, something dark and dangerous stirring in the depths of his voice.  “Find them so that we can see them properly punished.”  Dilandaus smile was every bit as malicious as Dryden would have expected, though it was more than a little unnerving to see it perfectly mirrored by the one on Van’s face.  He couldn’t quite keep from shivering slightly, knowing that no amount of pleading for mercy would sway either of the teens, nor should it.  After the hells that they’d been through, they deserved a bloody vengeance indeed.  They all did.

               “On that note… the funeral for the King, will take place tonight at sunset, then the coronation at dawn.  Van… King Fanel, I would be honoured if you would attend, you as well General Albatou.  Without your combined actions, this funeral would have only been attended by our corpses.”

               “We would be honoured.”  Van bowed his head politely while Dilandau crossed his arms over his chest.

               “I’m not hiding my wings.”  He stated boldly.

               “Oh for the love of….”  Sibille muttered under her breath.  “You already look enough like a freak with that damn skin and eyes…”

               “Word has likely already spread of what I am.  I see no reason to pretend to be anything different.  Besides, maybe it will give our enemies pause.”

               “Or maybe it will help them narrow down how to better take you out, you pompous peacock.”  The two zaibachi glared at each other, neither backing down.  Sighing softly and feeling a headache coming on, Van held up a hand, placing it between them.

               “He’s right, the damage is done.”

               “What damage!?”  Van shot Dilandau a somewhat exasperated glare.  “I refuse to be ashamed of what I am.”  As much as it annoyed him, Van had to admire how completely Dilandau stuck to his decisions once he’d made them.  Still, it felt odd having his wings out around people who still saw him as a human being rather than a draconian.  How the vain captain… no, general managed to stand it was beyond him.  Even now, he couldn’t help but shiver slightly, still hearing his mother’s many warning whispers to hide what he was.  “You shouldn’t be ashamed either.”  The pale teen continued.  “If we were human, we’d be dead already, so would all of Palas, so they can suck it up because I’m not changing.”

               “Nor should you.”  Dryden stated without any reservation in his voice.  “I would be honoured to have the Children of Atlantis present for the ceremony.”  His statement left no room for argument.

               Before anyone else could respond, there was a heavy knock on the door.  Both Dilandau and Van were on their feet in an instant, hands on their swords and the weapons half drawn before their movements had registered to the rest of the room.  While the generals remained seated, the open display of nervous aggression from the teenagers caused more than one of them to swallow anxiously and wonder at the wisdom of allowing either of them to remain armed in their company. 

Though her reaction was much more subdued than her compatriots, Princess Eries still took a cautious step back from the door, her brilliant blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.  Rhusha slowly rose to his feet, a soft growl reverberating through the room, formidable fangs bared and powerful hands flexing. 

Only Dryden and Sibille seemed to remain a calm center in the storm of paranoia, though Van noticed that Sibille’s hand was now casually resting on the dagger at her hip. 

Rising to his feet with a surprising amount of dignity, Dryden pressed a button on the intercom located by the door.

“I’d given orders that we were not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency.”  It took a moment to remember that he had to release the button to hear the speaker on the other end and he hastily did so, hoping that none of the assembled generals noticed his error.  Judging by the slight smirk on Sibille’s face, she’d caught the lapse, though the rest of the room appeared to remain oblivious.

“Apologies King Dryden.”  Hafrn’s voice growled through the metal plate.  The machine had rendered it tinny and almost mechanized, but it was still easily recognizable, as were the contrite tones it bore.  “A Royal messenger from Freid is here requesting your presence.  He says that it is of the utmost importance.”  At those words, Dryden’s brows shot up and his eyes sparked with interest. 

The message had the utter opposite effect on Dilandau who stiffened, his wings rising aggressively.  Van felt the tension slam into him as hard as a charging dragon and quickly reached out a hand, catching the warlord’s sword arm before he could do anything they’d all regret. 

 _:They won’t take you from me.:_   Crimson eyes met mahogany and Van did his best to project every ounce of calm confidence he could.  _:We’re in our fortress, surrounded by our allies.  If Chid wants a rematch, he’ll have to get through all of us first.:_  

While Dilandau didn’t reply, or even relax marginally, he didn’t attack and the air around him remained at a constant temperature.  Both were things Van counted as a win in his books. 

“Very well.”  Dryden straightened his back and motioned for the others to all sit back down in their chairs.  Oblivious to the little drama taking place behind him.  “Send him in.” 

Tightening his grip marginally, Van did his best to will the other teen to remain calm as the door slid open with the soft hiss of hydraulics, revealing Hafrn standing there, practically dwarfing a slender looking man dressed in freidian robes.

Like most of his people, his hair had been shaved off, a delicate geometric design decorated his bared scalp in a rather lovely mandala, the ink only a few shades darker than his natural nut-brown skin tone.  The robes draping his body were of good quality, though like all Freidian citizens, they had clearly seen a little too much use and were somewhat worn around the edges.  His jewellery, a simple necklace and earrings of gold with lapis lazuli inlay were of high quality and not gaudy.  A long satchel hung over his shoulder, the quality far better than his clothing and bearing the royal seal of Freid across its flap.  Something was in it, long and narrow, though it was impossible to guess its identity.

In his hands, he held a scroll case made from a pale, polished wood covered in elaborate carvings of delicate feathers caught in a breeze and sealed with caps of carved turquoise.  Van immediately recognized the royal seal emblazoned on its surface and his grip on Dilandau’s arm grew tight enough to bruise. 

“Duke Chid Zar Freid sends his grief at your trying time and wishes you to know that he intends to do all he can to support our most favoured ally.”  The messenger replied, bowing low and handing the scroll case to Dryden who took it with a slight nod of his head. 

While the messenger took great pains to pretend not to notice the two draconians in the room, Van could feel the weight of his gaze on them both.  It was too much to ask that Dilandau failed to notice the scrutiny and he could feel those powerful dark feathered wings mantling around them as the dragonslayer prepared to protect them both with lethal force.  Reacting to his tension, both Rhusha and Sibille seemed to grow wary.

 _:He’s tense:_   Dilandau growled mentally, his thoughts dripping with the desire for blood and vengeance.  _:He’s afraid of us.  Good.:_

 _:Don’t go looking for trouble.:_   Van warned, not relaxing his grip on Dilandau’s arm for even a moment.  He knew how fast and lethal the other teen’s draw was and wasn’t about to give him a chance to demonstrate despite the international incident it would cause.  _:Trouble finds us easily enough.  No need to encourage it.:_

 _:If he so much as looks at me in a way I don’t like, I’ll gut him and spread his innards across this table.:_   There was no point in arguing with him, it would only make a scene and put everyone on even more edge.  Instead, he simply held his grip and continued to think of the most calming things he could.  Drinking fresh melon juice while sitting on the roof of the palace, staring up at the Mystic Moon, flying on a warm summer breeze, feeling the tug of the wind on his feathers.

The entire room watched in tense silence as Dryden read the scroll, his normally lightly tanned skin growing paler by the moment and his green eyes taking on a troubled look.  The generals all leaned forward slightly, eager to hear what message the scroll contained, yet dreading it all the same.  After so much heartache, none of them were sure that they could handle any more bad news.

When Dryden finally took a deep breath and rolled the scroll up once more before placing it on the table in front of him, the room seemed to hold its collective breath.  Closing his eyes for a long moment, Dryden’s lips thinned as he chose his next words with care.  He knew how strained everyone’s nerves were and how easily he could lose control over the situation.  They couldn’t afford any errors, not now when so much was at stake.

“Basram has chosen to invade Freid.”  He finally stated, his words hitting everyone like a physical blow as one by one, they all grasped the serious implications of the act.  Sibille swore softly in zaibachi, her voice seeming unnaturally loud in the silence of the room.  “They’ve begun marching on the border villages, slaughtering all who stand in their way.  Their goal is the rice fields.  So far, they’ve seized several key villages, killing many of the elders and holding the civilians hostage, forcing them to work the fields.”  Pressing both hands flat against the table, Dryden took several deep breaths, trying to swallow his building outrage. 

“But.. the harvest!”  General Malenchamp gasped out in horror.  “The rice harvest is about to begin!  Without that food, we’re doomed!  All of Gaea is doomed!”

“My Lords…”  The messenger bowed his head deeply in respect and in apology for speaking out, but the pain and outrage filling his eyes were almost palpable.  “I have come not only bearing the words of the Duke of Freid, but also the words of our wisest holy man, Monk Jaron.  He says that the war has proven that the people of Freid are not great warriors or strategists in battle.”  He did his best not to look at Dilandau in particular.  “We’ve recently seen how quickly the poison of violence can infect us all and shatter our harmony.  Our way is the way of peace, of philosophy and nature.  When we stray from these paths of enlightenment, our way grows clouded and dark, so we beseech our allies to aid us in this desperate time.  We know of your pain, of the great suffering you have so recently endured, and we apologize for adding to it, but without your aid, we’re lost.

“As such, we seek the one among you who has risen up against the odds time and time again, the one who the very gods of Gaea seem to favour, the one who walks in the footsteps of the Ancients, the legend made flesh.  We beg King Van Fanel to aid us once again and drive the enemy from our borders.  We know that we’ve wronged him badly in the past and broken trust in a most heinous fashion, but still, we find that we must ask him to once more fly upon the wings of the white dragon and save Gaea.”

White hot rage burned through Dilandau at what was being asked and he took a step forward, lips pulling back from his teeth as he sneered at the messenger.

“Save you from the graves you yourselves dug?  How DARE you beg him to save your ungrateful hides after what you did!  You expect any of us to trust your word?  Your word is shit to us!”

“General Albatou.”  Dryden warned, only to be cut off by the furious warlord.

“No!  We came to you in good faith!  I handed over my sword, put myself in your custody without struggle and we even warned your precious little duke of the danger!  He threw me in a fucking cell without food or water!  Your people tortured me in that disgusting ritual of yours and tore out my soul!  Do you see these wings?!”  He was practically screaming at the messenger now, his eyes glowing with that dangerous inner light.  “They used to be just as white as Van’s!  I don’t even know what you did to me!  And NOW!!! Now you come here acting as if Van owes you something?  As if you have some right to him!?  If I didn’t hate Basram so much, I’d fucking be helping them raze what’s left of your country to the ground!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”  Dryden spun around and glared at Dilandau, his sudden flare of uncharacteristic anger cutting through the dragonslayer’s righteous fury.  “You will control yourself General Albatou, or you will be ordered out of this meeting and this decision will be made without you.  Do I make myself clear!?”  The glowing eyes flared dangerously as they were held by the king’s gaze, refusing to back down.  In the end, it was Van who spoke up, gently placing his free hand on one of those dark wings and gently running his fingers through the sensitive feathers.

“No one is making me do anything against my will Dilandau.”  He murmured gently, swallowing his own simmering rage over the new course of events.  “Everything I do is of my own free will.”

“And your stupid sense of duty.”  Dilandau snapped angrily, though the mad gleam in his eyes had faded under the touch of his husband.

“Says the guy who grabbed an energist bomb with his bare hands.”

“You are NOT allowed to hold my one heroic moment against me.”

“Sir… er… General Albatou.”  The messenger bowed deeply and removed the satchel from his shoulder.  “Duke Freid asked me to give this to you.  He said that it was discovered in the remains of the armoury and he felt that it should be returned to you, as it was not Freid’s right to keep it.  Duke Freid said that we’d taken enough from you already, and it was past time to make amends.”  Opening the bag, he withdrew a sheathed sword.  The long black scabbard was trimmed in midnight blue and emblazoned with the dragonslayer’s crest.  It was one he recognized instantly and the unholy fire left Dilandau’s eyes as if snuffed out.

Without raising his head, the messenger held up the sword in both hands, trembling somewhat, but managing to control himself enough that it wasn’t immediately visible.

“Miguel’s sword.”  Dilandau murmured softly, his eyes wide and almost distant as he stared at the weapon, remembering when he’d given that sword to his subordinate… his friend and lover.  How those calculating grey eyes and lit up with absolute joy, the youth himself practically glowing with pride as he’d taken the sword from him with shaking hands, struggling so hard to remain professionally impassive beneath the gaze of his teammates.

 _“A weapon is only as good as the warrior who wields it.”_   He’d warned the other youth, _“It’s the best quality in the Empire, and I expect the same from you.  Do not disappoint me Lieutenant Lavariel.”_   Empty fate… they’d been so young then, so utterly convinced of their own immortality.

His hand moved almost of its own volition, taking the sword from the messenger.  For a moment, he entertained the idea of drawing it and slicing the man’s hand off for daring to touch the weapon of a dragonslayer, but a warning dig from Van into his wing kept the blade sheathed.

“This doesn’t make things even between us.”  He growled, gripping the sword tightly in his hand, though letting it drop down to his waist.  “Not even slightly.”  Glancing down at the weapon, his thumb stroking lovingly over the tsuba, he closed his eyes for a moment, envisioning Miguel holding the weapon, losing himself in the memory of his smile.  “I’m not removing the curse.”

“It was not the intention of my Duke to seek for you to do so.  He merely wishes to begin balancing the scales between you both.”  Opening his eyes, Dilandau looked over at Van and sighed in utter annoyance.

“I know you’re going to go no matter what I say…stupid bleeding-heart hero type that you are, but I won’t stop you.”  Crimson eyes narrowed in warning.  “And you’re not going alone.  If you are going back to that traitor infested jungle, I’m going with you.  Fate knows what sort of trouble you’d get into without me.”  He did his best to ignore how brilliantly Van smiled at him, or how his relief trembled across the bond between them.  All this altruism was enough to make his stomach churn.  “But I’m in charge of this mission.”  He added in, eyes narrowing once more as he looked first at the beaming king, then the others assembled in the room.  The generals looked as if they were about to have communal heart attacks while Dryden simply looked shocked.

“Nonsense!”  General Malenchamp glared at him.  “You’re nothing but a trumped-up captain of an enemy country.  You are not going to lead the Astorian army into battle on foreign soil!”

“You’re right. I won’t.”  Dilandau replied smoothly, dismissing the messenger utterly and placing the sword on the table as he leaned forward.  Suddenly he was no longer the half rabid warrior ready to bite at anyone who got too close.  Now, he was every ounce a well decorated warlord prodigy.  Leader of an elite military unit who had more victories under his belt than anyone else at the table.  “If you send the Astorian army into Freid, not only will it take ages to accomplish, forcing us to fight in the middle of the rainy season, but it will leave the borders here unguarded, not to mention Palas itself uninhabitable.  Basram claimed the fields not only for the resource they represent, but because an all-out battle for them would result in their destruction.  We don’t dare bring in an army because even if we won, we’d all starve.  This situation requires precise tactical strikes with a small well coordinated unit, which is why they came to ask for Van himself, not plead with the King for military aid.”  Clever eyes studied the reactions of both King Dryden and the messenger, confirming what had been written on the scroll.

“Send my unit to Freid.  Hands on training will be far more effective than any amount of sparring in a controlled ring.  We can travel far more quickly than a larger unit and be stationed in Freid within two days using the Crusade.  With the Dukes permission, we can use Godashim as our main base and travel to the outlying areas as needed.”

“Allen might take issue with you stealing the Crusade… again.”  Van murmured the last word under his breath and was rewarded with a brilliant smile flashed in his direction.

“He said himself that as a Schezar, the ship is as much mine as it is his.  Besides, he can’t command it while he’s recovering.  By the time he’s ready for battle, we’ll have Freid all nice and sorted out.  Also, if memory serves, I now currently outrank him.  Handy that.”

“If you go off on this little party of yours, you’re taking Geesha.”  Sibille cut in, her tone of voice leaving no room for argument.  “She will monitor your health and ensure that you don’t get it into your little messed up head to twist reality up anymore than you already have.  Freid can’t handle much more of your mucking about.”

“I do NOT muck about!”  Dilandau snapped back at her affronted.  “I perform surgical strikes to destabilize enemy nations.”

“And what if they have guymelefs?”  General Teatame asked the two teens, his voice carrying the weight of warning behind it, reminding them of the price of failure.  “Your team hasn’t even begun training in the alseides we have.”

“We’ll bring along units for the team to train with.”  Dilandau replied smoothly.  “Until then, there’s nothing Basram can throw at us that The Escaflowne and my Oreades can’t handle.”

“…your what?!”  Despite the direness of the situation, the look of utter shock on everyone’s faces was everything Dilandau has hoped it would be.

 

 

 

               “Well, as surprises go, that one at least didn’t have fire involved.”  Van grumbled as he walked through the door to their quarters, heading towards the small table which had been laid out with wine and fresh fruit.  Without being asked, he poured Dilandau a drink and handed it to the still smirking albino.  “And that was NOT an invitation to set fire to everything around you.  Remember, we need those damn rice fields un-charred.”

“Blah blah blah, you sound like Folken.  Who cares about the fields.  We’re about to go into battle Van!”  Snatching the glass of wine up, Dilandau was practically bouncing in delight, a smile spread across his face wide enough to nearly split it in half.  “A real battle!  Without people we care about underfoot!  Where we’re not going to take stupid prisoners or accept bargains for mercy.”  Sipping his wine, with one hand, he gently placed Miguel’s sword on the table with surprising reverence, tracing his fingertips along the length of the scabbard.  “We’re going back to the basics, just like old times.”  He murmured to the weapon.  “I used to always complain about having to keep a low profile and cover our tracks, always yearning for the chaos of open battle… but I still secretly loved every moment of it.”

“Do you need a few moments alone with your sword?”  Van asked, fully aware of the double entendre of the words.  The crude hand sign he was flashed made him chuckle, even though he still had no idea what it meant.  The intent was clear enough.

Rather than pouring himself a glass, Van instead picked up a peach and bit into it, ignoring how the ripe juices flowed down over his chin.

“Ugh, you eat like a barbarian.”  Dilandau rolled his eyes, both disgusted and a tad intrigued by the shining sticky juice. 

“I am a barbarian.”  The king replied smugly as he waved Sibille and Rhusha into the room, inviting them to make themselves comfortable.  The huge beastman opted to sit down in one of the large high-backed chairs while the spymaster chose to instead lean against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest.

“You both do realize that this won’t be as simple as waltzing into Freid and stomping on some villages.”  Sibille stated in a flat voice, her eyes on Dilandau in particular.  “Despite their pretty words, even with the Duke’s supposed forgiveness, the average citizen will hate your guts and blame you for their current plight.  Wings or not, you’re going to be one step away from an angry mob at any given moment.”

“Mobs don’t worry me.”  Dilandau waved the concern away with an arrogant motion of his hand.  “I care about killing the enemy, the mobs are Van’s problem.  He can deal with them, besides, he’s the one who speaks their annoying gibberish.”

“And here I thought that I’d heard all the stupid things you could have to say.”  Sibille rolled her eyes and looked over at Rhusha.  “You speak to the idiot, he listens to you.”

“Hmph.”  The huge wolfman grunted in amusement.  “No Ironfang has ever listened to reason.  Nakahi is no different.”

“Can’t you just sit on him or something?”

“He bites.”

“I’m also still here you realize.”  Dilandau sipped his wine and glared at the two who mocked him.  “Also still armed.”

“They do have a point Dilandau.”  Van stated as he tossed the peach pit into a waste bin before walking over to his mildly irate husband.  “You’re going to have to be careful.  Our team is still untested in real battle.  Most of them are still painfully green and I don’t want to see any of them die needlessly… or at all.”  Crimson eyes met his for a long moment, the painful weight of the past hanging heavy between them before Dilandau finally looked away to stare at the sword once more.  It was a mute reminder of what his foolish arrogance had cost him once before.

“It won’t be like that.”  He replied softly, remembering the fifteen strong and beautiful young men who’d followed him into a war they’d never escape.  “We’ll be careful, take our time, study our enemies before leaping into battle.  We can’t risk open battle, not with the food supply of Gaea at stake.”

“How long will it take for those hydr…those warehouse gardens you were talking to Dryden about take to grow food?”  Van sat down on the edge of the table, idly licking peach juice off of his fingertips, only to pause when he noticed the heat behind the crimson stare.  Over in the corner, Sibille rolled her eyes while Rhusha chuckled something about young mates.

“It will only take a few days to get the gardens set up.”  Dilandau replied without hesitation.  “Any of the madoushi can do it, it’s basic Academy information, and this fortress has more than enough tools… not to mention all the rough material now available from the harbour.  It will take at least a month for the first food to be ripe enough to eat though, but once the gardens are set up, they can grow all year round so long as the warehouses stay warm.”  Even though he believed him, Van could still only stare in awe.  It all sounded so magical and impossible, more so than any of the other insane things he’d experienced.  The very idea of fresh vegetables during the winter was mind boggling.

“Don’t get your hopes up about enjoying fresh salads in the dead of winter kid.”  Sibille cut in with a smirk, no doubt knowing exactly where his mind was heading.  “There won’t be enough to go around like that.  What’s harvested will most likely be mixed with other things and turned into protein bars.  The bars go much farther calorie wise and don’t spoil anywhere near as fast.  Fresh vegetables were only for the officers and maybe a few of the troops who’d done something outstanding as a reward.  Right now, we’re looking to feed several nations, not create epicurean delights.”  And his dreams of a fresh crisp salad died before they’d even truly begun.  Dammit.

“I notice you didn’t mention yourself when talking about heading to Freid.”  Dilandau mused out loud, not at all upset about a looming future of protein bars.  He’d grown up on the damn things and had long ago grown accustomed to what most of the team less than affectionately referred to as glorified boot leather.  “You’re staying here to investigate the traitor?”

“Just because the situation has added another level to the field doesn’t change my orders.”  Sibille stated with her usual pragmatism.  “Winning Freids freedom won’t mean shit if you get your scrawny little throat slit the instant you come back here.  Besides, Dryden seems to have a good head on his shoulders.  He’ll be a good king and a useful ally; one we can rely on.  It makes sense to put some effort into keeping him alive.  Besides, this way I can keep an eye on your fop of a brother.  No doubt he’d going to be drawing trouble to himself like flies to shit the instant he’s up and walking.”

“Mmmm no doubt.”  Dilandau mused absently, handing Van his empty cup for a refill.  “We’ll get the unit packed up and ready, I’ll want each of them to pick out an alseides to train on, and we’ll keep one extra for test simulations.  I want us ready to head out after the coronation, that means the Crusade crew had damn well better be sober and ready.  Rhusha, I’m going to need you and the Red Paws to stay here.  I’m not going to drag your clan into a human battle if there’s no reason for it.  Besides, all of you possess medical and survival knowledge that can help the astorians get their city back into a habitable state.  They need you, though I’m taking the two who are interested in learning to become pilots.  They have potential.”

“So long as they are willing to make the journey, they have the blessing of the clan.”  The wolfman replied solemnly.  “I will speak to the clan and ensure you all have proper supplies for the battles.  Food which is slow to spoil, yet easy to carry.  You will not be able to travel with your airship and entertain the strategies you mentioned.  What of your dragon brother?  You cannot leave him behind when his family heads into danger.”

“I have no intention to.”  Dilandau smiled, taking his now filled glass back from Van with a nod of his head in thanks.  “He needs to get used to the team and working with a unit.  I’m not keeping him around purely for the aesthetic of having a land dragon.  He’ll work just like the rest of us.  Besides, Basram can make all the plans they want to stop people and guymelefs, but there’s no way they can anticipate a dragon strategically attacking them.”

“You really are a crazy son of a bitch Albatou.”  Sibille murmured softly with no small amount of awe in her voice at the sheer audacity of the plan.

“A crazy son of a bitch with a fucking dragon, do get it right.”  Dilandau smirked, sipping his wine.

“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?”  Van cut in, leaning slightly against the dragonslayer’s chair.  “Kamata isn’t a warrior, he’s a baby dragon and neither of us can really control him.”  Ignoring how those silvery white brows lowered ominously, he continued to point out the most obvious flaws in the plan.  “You’re bringing not only a VERY green unit into battle, but you’re throwing a half wild dragon into the mix.  People are going to get hurt, a lot of people.  People on our side.”

The look he was being shot was downright dangerous, but Van continued onwards.  If no one else was going to point out the many inherent dangers in this half mad scheme, then he would.

“You said yourself that fighting in the rainy season is insane, but you’re proposing just that, with a group who has no clue how to handle themselves on a battlefield under even ideal conditions.  We’re creating a perfect storm here, and we can’t afford to.” 

Dilandau’s empty hand clenched so tightly into a fist that everyone could hear the creak of his leather gloves and Van was more than ready to dodge an oncoming blow.  He knew damn well that the albino wasn’t accustomed to having his orders questioned, and that he never took it well on the rare occasions in which he was, but he swore silently to every god on Gaea that if the bastard tried to hit him, he’d get a shot right back.

To everyone’s surprise, the blow never came, though Van could feel how close it came.  Instead of attacking, Dilandau took a deep breath and glared at Van through narrowed eyes before taking a long sip of his wine from a glass which trembled slightly from the sheer level of self restraint he was exercising.

“We just went over this Van, and our options are limited.”  He replied in a tight voice, the words spoken through gritted teeth.  “You and I, while formidable beyond words and frankly utterly magnificent in battle… at least on my end, can’t cover all the variables in battle.  We need to trust in what we’ve built, and yes, while they are nowhere near fully trained, if we leave them behind in Astoria while we fight this little border war, all the progress we’ve made so far will be undone and they will still be undertrained and ill prepared for the full weight of the war.  This isn’t ideal, I’ll be the first to agree to that, but battle never comes at the most ideal time.  When it does, it’s obviously a trap.

“We will study the field of battle, get the feel of our enemies, strike where they’re most vulnerable and be gone before they can muster a good defense.  We don’t charge in like a bull dragon in rut, we strike like a wolf pack, using cunning and ruthlessness to bring down our enemies.”

Van stared at him for a long moment, half in shock as to the fact that Dilandau was preaching caution and restraint despite being in private with his closest confidants.  Sure, it was one thing for him to spout out such strategies in front of generals and Astoria’s king, but to realize that he truly did intend to follow through with the plan was frankly, more than a little staggering.  Folken must be rolling over in his grave from the shock.

“Alright, but for this to work, you and I can’t keep anything from each other.  We have to trust each other implicitly.  No secrets.”

“I’m a terrible liar Van, you know this well enough, and we’ve been each other’s shadows for colours.  How the hell could I keep a secret from you?”

“The hand signs you and Sibille were giving each other during the strategy meeting.”  Van looked at him with narrowed eyes, daring him to try to argue the fact.  “Neither of you fidget.  The others don’t know you well enough to catch it, but I do.  What were you discussing?  It had to do with the catacomb plans.”  Sibille smirked at him rather smugly, looking almost proud of the statement, while Dilandau appeared vaguely annoyed at having been caught out.  It took a rather phenomenal strength of will to not point out that the other teen wasn’t nearly as subtle as he liked to think he was.

Refusing to back down, he watched as the two zaibachi shared weighted looks with each other for a long moment before Sibille shrugged nonchalantly.

               “He’s right, you’re shit at secrets, especially with someone you’re fucking.”  She grumbled at the albino.  “You like gloating far too much for your own good.  Folken should have beaten that out of you.  Soft hearted traitorous bastard that he was, couldn’t even get that right.” 

Ignoring the barb thrown at his brother, Van continued to focus his full attention on Dilandau, fully aware that if either of them were going to break and spill the secret, it would be him.  Sibille was right, he loved rubbing things in people’s faces too much to pass up a good gloat.  Fort Castillo was a perfect example of that.

               “It’s no big deal really.  We were simply noting Astorian arrogance.”  He replied with an amused smirk that Van didn’t believe for a second.  “It didn’t seem very politic to mock them in the middle of the session.”

               “I doubt that.”  Van crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at his husband.  “Neither of you have hesitated in mocking them before.  Why start now?  Tell me what you were really talking about.”

He could practically read the thoughts on Dilandau’s face as he pondered lying about it, then maybe throwing a few insults to distract the king, then, finally that familiar gloat which warned that he’d tell the truth, in likely the worst possible light.  Married or not, the albino still gloried in being an asshole.

               “Well, in truth, it’s hardly my fault that all of the countries on Gaea lack even the most basic security protocols, I mean, you’re all begging to be invaded and conquered.  Really, we were doing you all a favour during the war.”

               “Nakahi, cease yowling of things which only wound your allies.”  Rhusha growled at him, looking like he was seriously debating on cuffing the errant slayer across the back of the head.  “Show your mate the respect he deserves and answer his questions before your games turn back on themselves and bite you.”

               Shooting him a rather rebellious glare and looking like he was giving some serious mental debate towards arguing with the wolfman, Dilandau instead opted to shrug insolently at his allies and take another sip of wine, nearly finishing the glass.  Taking a moment to stare at it, most likely weighing the chances of him getting Van to pour him a refill versus getting the bottle dumped over his head for continuing to stall, he heaved a heavy and dramatic sigh. 

               “Fine fine.”  He grumbled at long last.  “You’re no fun.”  The whining was met by two matching glares of irritation.  Sibille didn’t look like she could care less.  “We were discussing how Zaibach has had maps of the catacombs for years.  No idea how many exactly… likely almost a century at least.”  Van watched as Sibille nodded her head slightly in confirmation and swore softly under his breath. 

               Rather than immediately replying, he borrowed a page out of Dilandau’s book and stalked over to the table bearing the wine.  While shooting his currently less than beloved husband a dirty look, he poured himself a glass of wine and then downed half of it in one long throat searing swallow, privately wishing that he had something a little stronger to drink. 

               “So… none of this was a surprise for you guys.  Lovely.”  He took another long sip, draining his glass then pointedly refilled it, ignoring Dilandau’s own empty glass which was being less than subtly held out in his direction.  Pale bastard was lucky he didn’t beat him with the damn bottle.  There was no way he was giving him more wine.

               “So, you can see why we didn’t bring this up at the meeting.”  The dragonslayer stated, snatching the bottle out of Van’s hands before he could make his idle pondering a reality.  Van glared as Dilandau’s glass was refilled, then his own lightly topped off, as if he wasn’t half a second away from strangling the other teen.

               “You couldn’t have mentioned it to me beforehand?”  Van snapped heatedly.  “Either of you?”

               “Oh please, you’re as bad a liar as I am Van.  Only where I tend to gloat and look smugly superior, you just look guilty.  They expect the former, not the latter.”

               “Tell me that Zaibach didn’t sell these secrets to Basram.”  This time he directed the question to Sibille, knowing that Dilandau wouldn’t have the answer he needed.

“No.”  She replied in a deadpan and somewhat disgusted voice.  “Zaibach secrets stay just that.  The only people who had access to that information were the Four Demon Generals, myself as Spymaster and the Strategos.  How this pale assed little freak found out is anyone’s guess.  I was planning on beating the information out of him once you wandered off to notify your team of their mission.”  While she sounded remarkably casual about it, neither youth had any doubt that she was being perfectly serious.

“Folken.”  Dilandau replied, casually sipping his wine as if the threat was nothing more than empty words, though his eyes never left Sibille as he spoke.  “He seemed to have this idea in his head that I would sneak into fortresses and quietly eliminate high profile targets, causing as little fuss and collateral damage as possible.”  The sneer was evident in his voice, as if such a paltry thing as assassination was below him.

“And one of those high-profile targets was located in the Astorian palace?”  Van couldn’t resist asking.  So much for being allies, though hardly surprising considering this was Folken.  The man seemed to have a plan for every contingency.   “So why didn’t he just send you into the palace to kidnap me back in the beginning of the war?”  The words slipped out before he really thought about it.  Unable to stop himself, he found himself staring at the scar marring Dilandau’s right cheek.  It would have still been fresh, his rage white hot.  For all he knew, Folken HAD given Dilandau those very orders, and the maddened dragonslayer had taken it upon himself to burn the entire district of the city to ash instead.  So much for every contingency.

Ignoring the dirty look he was being shot from his husband, he took a sip from his wine and thought for a moment, not really enjoying the dark places his mind was taking him.

“I suppose Astoria isn’t the only place you have classified information on?”  The weight of what he was asking hung between them uncomfortably.  A lesser man might deny it, or at least twist the truth, but Dilandau had never been ashamed of the duplicity of his beloved homeland and instead raised his glass slightly, flashing Van a brilliant smile, proud to be a source of profound annoyance.

               “I know the Fanelian palace like the back of my hand, every weak spot, every secret passage, every hidden cache of weapons and shelter for the populace.   It’s likely why the Strategos pulled me from the attack.”  Sipping his wine, he gave an indelicate shrug.  His tone of voice plainly stated that such treasonous information was nothing special, but his eyes practically sparkled with delight.  “I know the layout of every palace and major fortress.  I’ve also extensively studied the habits of all of Gaea’s leaders.  Folken was most insistent on that last one, though I believe in part he was hoping that I’d learn which qualities it was that made them strong leaders, rather than how to destroy them.”

               “So, you studied me as well?”

               “I said leaders Van.”  Dilandau’s grin turned into a full-on taunting smirk.  “Until the war, you were just an untried child, a figurehead and puppet to your council… as plainly evidenced by your charming ambassador.”  Taking a moment to tap his unscarred cheek thoughtfully, he continued to tease Van.  “Actually, from the way he was acting, I’m willing to bet that not much has changed since the war either.” 

Van’s hand tightened on his drink hard enough that he could hear the precious glass starting to crack from the pressure.  Rather than backing off, Dilandau simply waved a hand at Van dismissively. 

“Calm down, I’m simply stating facts.  Admit it Van, you’ve spent all your time since the war just helping the populace rebuild homes.  You’ve been quite literally patching up wounds, listening to the laments of the common man and tending to the fields like a labourer while your council has been truly running things politically. 

“Sure, you step in when you must.  When they need a signature, a seal, or for you to sit there on your throne and look pretty…. You did get a throne rebuilt right?  I remember Ryuuen said that he’d stepped on it with his alseides.”

               “And I bet you all had a good laugh over that.”  Van couldn’t help but snarl as he placed his glass on the table much harder than he’d intended.  Crimson eyes watched the movement and the smile widened a little.

               “Of course.  I won’t deny it.  It made up for the fact that you damaged two of my units.”  He continued to sip his wine delicately, baiting the other teen with every swallow.  “Oh don’t get all self righteous with me Van.”  Dilandau chuckled softly, enjoying baiting his husband.  “I’m sure that you enjoyed a nice warm glow of victory when you exploded then sank the Vione, sending my own throne to rest beneath the waves of Astoria’s harbour?”

               “You had a throne?  Seriously?  What sort of captain has a throne?”

“Tell me about it.”  Sibille grumbled under her breath while Dilandau sputtered, suddenly offended.

“A captain who led the most elite unit in the fucking empire!”  He snapped back.  “And it was an amazing throne!  It was carved to look like a lion and draped in the most luxurious fur.  I hunted the damn dire bear myself!  I could even sheathe my sword in the lion’s jaws.  It was perfect, and now it sits on the ocean floor, growing barnacles and getting shat on by fish.”

Thinking back to his own simple throne back at the palace, Van was rather sure that ostentatious was a far better word.  He was willing to bet that Folken hadn’t even had a throne.  Trust Dilandau to be overdramatic with every aspect of his life.

“Someone’s still touchy.”  Again, Sibille couldn’t resist needling her countryman, though in this case, Van had to agree.  That throne was nothing but a prideful accessory, it hadn’t meant anything, not like his throne.

Surprisingly, rather than snap at either of them, Dilandau simply shrugged and sipped his wine.

“Not really.”  He stated after a moment, his eyes straying over to the sword laying on the table, the only physical proof that the dragonslayers had ever existed, save for a flower covered plateau in a distant country.  “It was a thing, nothing more.  By the time it was ruined, I’d already lost what truly mattered.  All I really have are my memories.”  Those brilliant crimson eyes darkened ominously and his hand tightened around the stem of his glass, threatening to snap it.  “Memories that Shroden fucked with.”  He snarled softly before looking at all of them.  “As humiliating to admit as it is, I’m probably the leak regarding the catacombs.  The Madoushi are scientists.  They wouldn’t have access to military secrets like that.  Neither the Emperor or Folken would share something like that with them, there’d be no reason to, and Sibille, I might think you’re a bitch of the first order, but I know you wouldn’t give them the time of day let alone top level information.”  Draining his glass with one long deep sip, Dilandau stood up and made to refill his glass again, but Van plucked it out of his hands, aware that they needed to keep him sober, no matter how much he didn’t want to be.

“Shroden is a megalomaniac.  He’d have loathed the idea that I had access to information he didn’t.  The bastard probably made me tell him during one of our _sessions_.”  The word was spat out with enough venom to kill a dragon.  “Empty Fate, all he’d have had to do was ask and I’d have told him, then he could neatly erase my memories of the whole thing and I wouldn’t know any better.”  Unable to contain himself, he grabbed the now nearly empty bottle and threw it against the wall, shattering the glass beyond any sort of repair.

No one made any move to reprimand him for the bout of temper.  Instead, Van simply placed a hand on his trembling shoulder and gave him a gentle squeeze, reminding him that he wasn’t alone, that he was free of his tormentor. 

“…I hate not knowing my own mind.”  Dilandau murmured, more to himself than anyone.  “I hate being his fucking toy.  Even now it haunts me.”

               “We’ll make him pay for everything.”  Van assured him, wanting more than anything to pull him into his arms and hold him until the shaking stopped, but knowing that such a display of weakness wouldn’t be tolerated, not now, not in front of their allies, even if they did know the truth.  The illusion of strength was what was holding Dilandau together at this moment, and even if it was a shoddy one, Van wasn’t going to shatter it.

               “I promise you that we’ll kill him and you can hang his corpse from the flagpole if you want.”  That earned him a grudging smile as Sibille groaned.

               “He’ll fucking do it you know… little psychopath.  You’ll have only yourself to blame for this.”

               “At this moment, I don’t care.”  Van replied, giving the pale shoulder another squeeze before letting go and giving Dilandau some space.  He even pretended not to notice when one of the dark wings stretched out slightly, brushing his leg and staying there, keeping the touch subtle.  “So then… we’re back to square one with the traitors?  It’s not like we can follow a century old trail.”  He glanced at Sibille for clarification.  For all he knew, she could do just that.

               “No, the map is a bust, though I still believe that one of the knights helped.  I’m positive the traitors are still in Palas, if not the castle itself.  Those bombs were likely recently placed, not to mention the fact that whoever kidnapped you two is still running around.”  She paused thoughtfully.  “That messenger who had his throat slit… he survived right?”  The two teens glanced at each other and shrugged.  Van felt a sudden flash of guilt.  Palos had nearly been murdered and neither of them had even thought to enquire about him.

               “I… think so?”  He guessed.

               “You think so?”  She couldn’t sound more incredulous if she tried.  “Real man of the people you are.”

               “We’ve been rather busy saving everyone’s asses.”  Dilandau cut in before Van could sputter out an apology.  “I’m sure someone knows.  Use your amazing powers of deduction oh glorious spymaster and find out who.”

               “How Folken never strangled you in your sleep I’ll never know.”  Before the dragonslayer could snap out an appropriately scathing answer, there was a heavy knock on the door.  Both teens immediately had their swords in hand, ready for attack and earning themselves a rather amused look from Sibille.

“Jumpy are we?”  She asked archly, walking towards the door.  Her words might have had a bit more sting to them if Van hadn’t noticed that her own hand was resting casually on her belt knife.  Despite her teasing, she made no effort to open the door and instead pushed a rather innocuous button on the wall set into a metal panel.  No doubt it was another one of those damn intercom systems everyone kept fawning over.  Personally, Van didn’t trust them one bit.  The idea of speaking to disembodied voices was simply wrong, and the way they distorted everyone’s voices reminded him of the speakers on those damn alseides.

“If it’s not important, Piss off!”  The oh so subtle spymaster snarled into the metal grill next to the button.  Honestly, Van would have simply opened the door, but for once, he could truly appreciate Zaibach paranoia, even if  it felt sort of cowardly hiding behind the door.

“Is Vega.”  The young woman’s voice was distorted enough to almost not be recognizable, especially as she spoke the halting astorian.  “Man here for His Highness, King Van Fanel.”  Sibille shot Van an amused look.

“Well, seems you put quite a bit of effort into making sure she got your title pronounced perfectly.”

“She insisted.”  He could feel his cheeks heating up with embarrassment and sheathed his sword.  “Let her in please.”

“Even though she said she’s not alone?”

“You said that you’re the top assassin of the Empire, and I have their best soldier at my side, not to mention Rhusha.  I think we can handle one man.”  At least he hoped they could handle one man.  If it was say… one of the legendary swordsmen of Gaea, they were doomed.  But hey, what were the chances of that?  To be on the safe side, he kept his hand on his sword…just in case.  Dilandau’s was still drawn and openly brandished, showing that one of them at least still paranoid, or perhaps had common sense.

The door slid open with a hydraulic hiss, revealing Vega and the Freidian messenger, who looked even more nervous than before.  Upon seeing them, Vega bowed deeply, as did the messenger, though he made no attempt to enter the room.  Most likely it was due to the naked blade and angry draconian, but Van wasn’t about to argue.  He didn’t want the man in their little sanctuary anymore than he looked like he wanted to be there.

“Speak.”  He ordered in Astorian, ensuring that the others could all understand what was being said. 

“Your Highness,”  The man bowed deeply once more.  “I apologize for bothering you.  I come at the behest of the captain of the ship who gave me transport.  A Captain Norest of the Lady Tulesa.  During our journey, he mentioned you by name several times and spoke of a business venture with you.  He was… most distressed upon seeing the state of the harbour and wished to inquire as to your health as well as your continued interest in the venture.”

“Bloody bastard is going to try to renegotiate, I just know it.”  Dilandau growled softly, flashing the messenger a glare of death, as if he were somehow responsible.  “He’s lucky I don’t burn his ship and leave it at the bottom of the harbour… with him still on it.”

“Friend of yours Albatou?”  Sibille asked as Rhusha chuckled softly.

“At least he came Nakahi.  He could have easily taken your precious steel for himself.  It’s not as if you have the time and resources to track him.”  The beastman growled in his own language, earning a slight smile from Van. 

The steel the man carried was now beyond priceless, and he damn well knew it.  Still, they couldn’t afford to let this slip through their fingers.  There was an entire fleet needing to be repaired. 

“Normally I wouldn’t have bothered you regarding this, your Highness, but he spoke at length of you and your adventures… and I could see how valuable his cargo would be during your time of need.  I apologize if I overstepped my bounds at all.  This was not my intention.” 

“No… it’s fine.”  Van held up a hand, stopping the man’s blubbering before it became annoying.  Turning to Dilandau, he smiled slightly.  At least their luck was changing.  This couldn’t have come at a more opportune time.  “Shall we go and inform Dryden that his steel purchase is here?”

“I’m rather sure I don’t have enough on me to cover the cost.”  Dilandau replied, using the beast kin tongue, still not taking his eyes off the messenger.  “Besides, I can hardly reap any of the profits from the sale if I buy it myself.”   Van had to fight to keep his expression perfectly neutral, though he really, desperately wanted to hit his head against the door.

“So what, am I supposed to put it on Royal credit or something?”  Sure, he could do that, he had his seal on him, but his council would kill him.  Fanelia needed food and building supplies more than steel at this moment and it would be seen as a needless waste of money… a lot of money.

“Well, I’m sure the Schezar fortune is more than vast enough to handle it, and Allen is always going on and on about how much he loves his country, this way he’s helping out, and if I happen to reap the profits from the sale on both sides, all the better.”  Dilandau shrugged.  “I’ll have the money replaced, perhaps with a small percentage bonus to it and he won’t have anything to worry about.”  Van fixed him with a rather level look, fully aware of all the ways this could go badly.  “Astoria needs the steel, Norest has the steel in his hold, and we’re not exactly spoiled for choices here.  Besides, the money earned will be going into keeping this floating rock in working order.  These things aren’t cheap, and we’re going to have to provide for everyone’s basic needs, not to mention their actual pay.  I’m rather sure Fanelia doesn’t have a Floating Fortress worked into their yearly fiscal budget.” 

“You’ll need his seal.”  Van warned him, wishing that he wasn’t being complicit in this, but if it was going to be done, it was going to be done properly. 

“Easily done.”   

               “He’s going to kill you when he finds out.”

               “He’s going to have to catch me first, and how about that, we’ll be in Freid.  Convenient.”

               “You’re insane.”

               “Nonsense, I’m about to be very very wealthy, that means I’m merely eccentric.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Freid... can it handle a return of our delightful duo? Will Dilandau cause even more trouble? Will Chid manage to make peace... or at least tense tolerance with our heroes? Will Gaddes ever catch a break? Will Sibille murder Allen in his sleep? Will they be able to convince Kamata to get into the damn airship? Stay tuned for more wild and crazy high jinks!  
> Next Chapter: Return to Freid! What could go wrong?


	7. Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King crowned, a secret revealed and a quest begins. What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long update, thanks to everyone for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy this installment. Welcome to fall, pumpkin spice everything, the summer fires have stopped and soon we will all be donning sinister costumes and indulging in sugar rushes!! I friggin love fall. Truly the best time of the year. ^_^

               “Do you think I should cut my hair?”  Dilandau asked absently as he stared at himself in the full-length mirror, admiring his reflection from every possible angle and frowning critically.  “I haven’t had it this long since I was with the Iron Fangs, and if memory serves, the tangles were an utter nightmare.”  Van glanced over at him preening and rolled his eyes before returning to the hell of his new uniform.

               They’d been presented with the monstrosities less than an hour ago, with instructions to wear them for the coronation.  Cut in a style similar to the old dragonslayer uniform, they were obviously Dryden’s way of thanking the young general for all of his efforts, and judging by Dilandau’s wide and delighted grin, the sentiment was understood.  Sure, it looked amazing on the pale youth.  The glossy black leather hugging the lines of his body, accentuating his natural slender shape.  Gone were the bulky shoulder pads in favour of formed metal plates resembling those worn by the leopard twins.  There was also a panel in the back which could be removed in order to enable his wings to move without issue.  Van couldn’t help but stare at the wide expanse of smooth milk white skin which contrasted so perfectly with the black leather.

               “The correct answer is “No Dilandau, your hair looks perfect as always.”  Or something along those lines.  We’ve been over this Van.”  The reflection of crimson eyes watched him through the mirror, and he could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

               Pulling his eyes away, Van did his best to cover his blush by fiddling with his uniform, trying to sort out which buckle went where.  Ugh, he’d gone his entire life without needing a body servant to dress him, he wasn’t about to start now!

               “What in the name of fate have you done to that poor thing?”

               “The buckles aren’t working!  My suit is broken.”  He wanted to just tear the damn thing off and put on his familiar red shirt and trousers.  Hells, even a simple royal tunic would be better than this.

               “You trying to fasten it backwards, that’s why.”  Dilandau walked over to him and batted his hands away.  “Honestly, how did you ever manage to survive this long?”

               “By wearing sensible clothes.”  Van shot back, though his words were quickly forgotten as those slender deft fingers slid around his body, straightening the buckles with long learned skill.  He swore he could feel the heat of every touch through the leather and a lock of that silken silver hair brushed across his throat teasingly.

               “Mmm pity we don’t have long before we have to be paraded about like circus animals for the masses.”  Warm breath tickled across his jaw, making his pulse jump.  Suddenly, the form fitting uniform felt rather tight in certain strategic areas.  “You look rather handsome in a uniform you know.”

               “It feels… strange.”  Van watched those nimble fingers deftly fasten the buckles without issue, then gently turn him so he could look into the mirror.  A stranger greeted him.  Wild black hair had been groomed into some semblance of order, though like Dilandau, he likely required about half an hour and a good set of shears. 

               Their uniforms were practically twins of each other, save that Van had kept the back panel fastened, still not fully comfortable baring his wings around those who weren’t intimately close with him.  The golden piping trimming Dilandau’s uniform was a tad more elaborate than his own, owning to military rank, but other than that, and the colour difference of the metal plates, their uniforms were practically identical.  Where the metal was tinted red on Dilandau’s uniform, it was a beautiful white on his own, most likely in deference for him being “The White Dragon” or some such fanciful nonsense. 

               “I’ve never been part of a unit… part of a team.  Even with Allen… we did our own thing… well, I did my own thing.”  He could feel his cheeks colouring at the admission.  “What if I mess up?  I’m always running off on my own, and I’m bad at taking orders.”

               “I have no complaints with your performance so far.”  Dilandau smiled at him playfully, slipping his hand around Van’s waist, then sliding down the front of his trousers and giving him a teasing squeeze, causing the darker youth to squeak in a rather undignified manner.  Surprised at the groping, it took Van a moment to regather himself, and in that time, Dilandau pulled away with a teasing chuckle.

 “Seriously though.”  He continued, pretending to be blissfully unaware of how tight the front of Van’s trousers had suddenly become.  “You’ve been part of a team since we were thrown into that ship’s hold together, and you’ve stuck by me even at my worst.  Not many would have bothered keeping me around when I was a gibbering wreck or out of my mind on drugs.  You did.  That means a lot Van.  You’ve fought beside me and you’ve fought for me, even when I didn’t want you to. 

               “Nice way of you to thank me for that.”  The king grumbled, attempting to adjust his clothing so that it wasn’t quite so suddenly constricting.  Naturally, Dilandau continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all.

“You keep talking about how I’m not the same person I was in the war, but neither are you.  You’re more open minded, less uptight about everything and more willing to enjoy yourself.  Honestly, you’re much more fun to be around now that you’re not trying to act like some stupid saintly king out of some stupid story written for desperate women.  You’re gathering up the ashes of the world around you and building something new, something far more interesting than before.”

               “Yeah… well… there were a lot of ashes everywhere.  Someone had to do something with them.”  Chuckling softly at Van’s response, Dilandau lightly cuffed him across the back of the head.

               “Come on, we’re going to be late.”

               “That means we’re still early.  I know how you tell time.”  Van smiled at him for a moment, openly admiring his beautiful and mercurial husband; marvelling at how in his own warped way, he was right.  They’d both changed and grown, becoming so much better than before.  It still seemed impossible to believe that only a few colours ago they’d still been bitter enemies.  It figured that it would take the threat of the utter annihilation of Gaea itself to bring the two of them together… which reminded him.

Biting his lip in sudden nervousness, he walked over to a cloth bag which had been rather unceremoniously thrown into a corner several days ago and practically forgotten.  While rather innocuous, it contained most of his worldly possessions.  Neither of them had really had time to unpack since arriving on the fortress.  There’d always been emergencies to deal with, and if Van was perfectly honest with himself, after so many colours on the run, he was still hesitant to settle down.

               Giving the pale youth a quick glance, making sure that he was once again fussing with his hair in front of the mirror and adequately distracted, he quickly unfastened the leather tie holding it closed.  There really was no reason for him to be nervous, and he silently chided himself as he picked up an item wrapped in soft tanned leather, feeling its weight.  It was just a gift… no big deal… only it was, and while he wasn’t afraid to give it, he was worried about it possibly not being accepted.

               “Do you think I should tie it back for the ceremony?  Ugh, no forget that.  I’d look like Celena or something equally embarrassing.”

               “Dilandau?”  Van winced as his voice wavered slightly, threatening to crack from sheer nerves alone.  That seemed to catch the dragonslayer’s attention and he glanced over at the darker teen with concern flickering across his face.  It was hard to ignore the telltale prickle in his mind which was the dragonslayer’s probing curiosity, but he kept his own thoughts locked away, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

“I… you know… just wanted to give you… um… here.”  He thrust the package at Dilandau, nearly pushing the pale teen over as he shoved it against his chest.  Once again, Van found himself wishing that he had Allen’s natural social grace or delicacy.  The knight would have made this a magical moment, a moment worthy of a Prince Consort, rather than simply shoving a bag into his husband’s hands as if he was handing over a sack of supplies.

               “Should I be worried?”  A silvery eyebrow rose up in question at Van’s obvious discomfiture, though pale rose lips turned up in a smile.  Dilandau did so enjoy receiving gifts.

               “Just open it.”  Van mumbled, turning away, his cheeks burning hot with embarrassment.  Sparing the darker teen a curious look, Dilandau chose to drag the moment out, taking his time in examining the innocuous leather wrapped package, drawing out his lover’s nerves until Van was almost ready to snatch the bag from him and open it himself just to end the torture.  He couldn’t breathe, his hands were shaking, and he was more nervous now than he’d ever been during even the darkest days of the war.  Still, he waited, hearing the soft creak of the buckle being unfastened, the rustling of the bag opening.  Dammit, how long did it take to open a single bag!?  Van was ready to reach over and open the damn thing himself at this rate!

Was it open now?  Could he see it?  Was he pleased?  Why wasn’t he saying anything?  Sweat began to bead across his brow as he waited, dreading and anticipating the next few moments with all his heart.  In fact, he was so lost in his own little bundle of nerves that he barely heard the sharply indrawn breath, or the rustle of the leather bag falling to the floor, forgotten. 

               “…Van?”  Dilandau sounded utterly stunned, causing Van to look back at him, sudden worry flaring through him.  Held in those black gloved hands was a golden diadem, a little thinner than the one he’d once sported, but bearing three rubies in the center.  The gems had been beautifully cut and polished, seeming to glow with their own inner light.  They were the same shade as Dilandau’s eyes, and Van couldn’t help but smile as the look of shock on Dilandau’s face shifted to one of utter delight.

               “I found it in the pirates hold just before we went below… The rubies I had added once we got to Astoria…I got the royal jeweler to do it after that first meeting with King Aston… you were busy with the class and I knew that if I didn’t get it done immediately, something would come up.  I wanted to save it for a special occasion… and seeing you in your uniform, it… you know, didn’t seem right for you not to be wearing one.” 

He was babbling and knew it, but Dilandau didn’t seem to mind at all.  In fact, crimson eyes stared into his, shining with fierce pride and joy. 

“And you know… I’m supposed to be getting you courting gifts and what not, but I don’t know anything about Astorian courting.  In Fanelia you’re supposed to get the bride to be flowers… not that I see you as a bride, but I wanted to get you something and this was just so perfect and-”  He didn’t get a chance to finish before Dilandau had grabbed him by those previously much cursed at straps and  pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss.  The joyous ferocity behind it made his head spin in all the best ways and when they finally parted for breath, he couldn’t quite keep from grinning, pleased that his gift had been so well favoured.

               “I think we’re about to be rather late for the coronation.”  Dilandau whispered into his ear, already tugging at the buckles, clearly knowing exactly which ones to unfasten to cause Van’s armour to fall open in a rather strategic manner, baring deliciously flushed flesh, already eager for his touch.  Despite the dragonslayer’s well known love of punctuality, he didn’t sound at all upset over the prospect of being tardy, and at this moment, Van couldn’t think of a place he’d rather be than right here.  “Mmm very late indeed.”

 

 

               “Everyone is staring at us.”  Van murmured as he glanced nervously at the thick crowds of people who flocked the very edges of the canal.  He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that it was blindingly obvious to everyone just what exactly the two of them had been up to which had made them barely arrive at their muster point on time.  Thousands of eyes seem to stare at them, judging them, noting the slightly tousled look to their hair of the way Dilandau’s lips were deliciously plumped from his earlier activities.  How could they not notice?  Van felt like they might as well have been screaming out their indiscretions for everyone to know.  Yes, inwardly he knew that he was just being paranoid.  There was no way the common people of Astoria could see from where they milled about on the banks.  Still, he hated being the center of attention, good or bad.  It set him on edge, and this attention was most assuredly mixed given his company on the barge.

They formed a literal wall with their bodies thicker than any fortification Van could even imagine and the roar of so many voices raised in excitement seemed to form yet another near suffocating barrier around them.  The spectators for the wedding were packed in so tightly that he was personally more than a little amazed that no one had fallen into the water yet.  It looked like the entirety of Astoria had shown up… plus a few other countries.  Had his coronation been this packed?  It was hard to tell seeing as how only the nobility had been permitted into the temple courtyard in Fanelia.  It hadn’t occurred to him to parade through the streets, or canals in this case, as if he was some sort of spectacle.  It all seemed far too…self glorifying for a sacred ceremony.  Granted, after everything that Astoria had suffered in the past week, not to mention the solemnity of King Aston’s funeral the night before, these people needed an outlet.  At least this ceremony gave them some measure of hope and security.  Still, he couldn’t help but wish for something a little less… populated.

               “Nonsense, don’t be so full of yourself.  They’re obviously staring at me.”  Dilandau smirked slightly as he brushed his fingers through his silvery white hair, lightly tracing across the edges of the diadem, loving the familiar weight of it on his brow.  It felt so right, so perfect and he couldn’t help but smile a little wider at the thought of how beautiful he looked wearing it.  Unlike Van, he was used to the attention and the spectacle of military parades, not to mention the oppressive crush of the front lines.  This crowd was nothing to him and hardly worthy of his interest.  All that mattered was the image of strength and solidarity that they projected, and there was no doubt in his mind that they were doing exactly that.

The two of them cut rather impressive figures standing side by side, flanked by their children who were just a step behind them as their gondola slowly made its way down the canal, past brilliantly dyed flags and banners which had been strung overhead.  As part of the royal procession, their gondola was bearing the flag of both Fanelia and Zaibach, an odd combination to see together in anyone’s opinion, but neither were going to stand beneath the flag of the other without a fight.  Compromise of a sort had been reached, though Dilandau had grumbled at length about the Fanelian royal flag being presented above that of his own homeland.  It was a battle he had no hope of winning, but that didn’t mean that Van had claimed victory without a fight.

_“I’m the king, I won the war.  When you become the emperor of Zaibach, your flag can fly next to mine.”_ Van had finally stated in exasperation.   There hadn’t been time to change the arrangement at any rate, they’d barely arrived on time for the beginning of the ceremony and had earned themselves several knowing looks from their troops.  Thankfully, they all knew damn well to keep their comments to themselves, lest they earn themselves several laps around the fortress.

“And stop tugging at your uniform, you’re acting like a bored child.”  Dilandau couldn’t quite resist snapping in amusement.  In contrast to Van’s uncomfortable fidgeting, the dragonslayer stood at parade rest as comfortably as if he’d been born to it.

               “You should enjoy being dressed like a proper warrior for once.”  The teasing lecture continued, as if thousands of eyes weren’t currently locked on him, not all of them friendly.  This was no doubt his idea of revenge regarding the flag argument.  “Now you almost look like a king, and your country won’t go broke always having to supply you with those ugly red shirts.  Though I’m sure that poor tailor you no doubt have locked up in some cell will go out of business.” 

“What do you have against my poor shirt?  I love that shirt.”

“It’s hideous and makes you look like a street urchin, not to mention I’m positive that it went out of style over a decade ago and you seem to have an endless supply of the damn thing.  Need I go on?”

“Would you prefer that I dressed in a lovely blouse with puffed and starched sleeves?  I could grow my hair long like a proper nobleman…”

“If you keep talking, I swear that I’ll push you off this damn gondola, appearances be damned.”

Van couldn’t quite keep from smiling at the banter.  It took some of the rigidity away from the formality of the ceremony and made him feel surprisingly content and relaxed despite the tension of current events.  No matter what happened around them, he knew that he’d always be able to bicker with his former nemesis.

“Is that the merchant district over there?  I see they’ve rebuilt.”  Aaaaand other times, it simply gave him fuel for a thousand fantasies of drowning the arrogant asshole.  “It looks….very nice.”

“Keep it up and you’re walking to shore.”

               The threat did nothing more than earn him a snicker, though he could practically feel Ignis and Irma who stood behind them, rolling their eyes and exchanging knowing smiles.  At least someone was amused by his suffering, though hopefully this helped get everything out of Dilandau’s system before they went to Freid.  He could just imagine the barbs the albino was going to throw… not that Van could particularly blame him.

“You’re still fidgeting.”  Dilandau noted, glancing at Van out of the corner of his eye.  “Is it really so impossible for you to stand still for an hour?  How in the name of Fate did you make it through your own coronation?”

“Technically, I didn’t.  Some idiot decided to attack my kingdom during the ceremony.”

“Was it as boring as this one?”

Somehow Van resisted elbowing him sharply in the ribs for that, and he could hear their damn kids snicker softly.  Unlike their parents, the two siblings were on their best behaviour, wearing their new uniforms proudly and doing their best to mimic Dilandau’s stance despite the subtle rocking of the boat.  Irma’s uniform, like theirs had panels removed in the back for her wings.  She wore a long-hooded cloak over herself, casting shadow over her face as well as hiding her wings.  Both her fathers had been opposed to it, not wanting her to feel ashamed over her appearance, but Irma had made it clear that the focus should be on the two of them, and the newlyweds, not on her.  She’d already seen how the newcomers to the fortress stared at her and how they gossiped about what she was, many seeing her as unnatural as her fathers.  There was no way she was going to cast a pall on this beautiful day.

Rather than dwelling on her choice, she simply shrugged it off and enjoyed the moment and the slight aura of mystery she created, showing a strength of character few possessed.  Van could feel the subtle shifts in the boat as both children gave in to the urge to look around at the grandeur surrounding them.  Not that he could blame them, despite all their recent hardship and their grieving hearts, Astoria was doing everything they could to drive the darkness away and embrace their new king. 

It certainly helped that both Millerna and Dryden were so popular.  It had been well earned and no one could begrudge them for it seeing as how they’d gone to great lengths to win over the people.  Stories of them surviving not only the horrors of their assassination attempt, but immediately serving back breaking hours struggling to heal the injured were circulating all over.  This coupled with Dryden’s immediate work to organize rescue efforts as well as protecting the city even while injured himself, had gone far towards making the couple even more beloved than they already were

Van naturally was under no illusion that his royal title had bought him a place in the coronation, and while Dilandau might be the begrudging hero of the hour, it still hadn’t eclipsed the resentment in the populace.    It was still simply too soon after the war for the common people to forget their many wounds, and Dilandau was tied too personally to many of them. 

Even now, he could hear them gossiping openly, as if they didn’t think they could be heard, or simply didn’t care. 

“…King of Fanelia… and Prince Consort?  Scandalous!”

“It won’t last…. Abomination.  His council will put an end to that travesty.”

“So young.”

“Thought they’d be taller.”

“Cursed beast.  They’re dooming us all inviting that thing here!”

“Zaibach traitor… actually a Schezar, the horrors!”

“Burned the entire district!”

“They saved us all from the bomb”

“So pretty, so young.  Poor thing.”

“Should be hung for his crimes.”

“Just not proper!  And for a king to act in such a manner!”

Couldn’t they find something else to stare at?  Didn’t they realize that they were people?  That they could hear them?!  Why did people have to be so judgemental?  It almost made him with that this coronation would be attacked, if just for the distraction it would offer.  His only relief was that Dilandau wasn’t taking any of it to heart, something he found to be somewhat surprising given the dragonslayer’s short fuse and exorbitant pride.  As if reading his thoughts, Dilandau glanced over at him and offered him a thin smile.

: _Their words mean nothing to me, nor do their opinions_.:  Van felt him say, contempt dripping from his mental voice.  : _I could kill them all with barely thought, yet for all their mewling, and their rage, they stand there doing nothing.  There are thousands of them here, hating me with all their hearts, but not one of them is actually willing to commit themselves to raising a hand against me.  They’re cowards and not worth the effort of listening to._ : 

: _All it takes is one person with a knife and nothing to lose_.:  Van cautioned him, more than a little concerned that Dilandau might just get it into his head to fly over there and see just how committed the Astorian populace was to revenge on him.

: _True, though they’d need to be a rather impressive swimmer to cross the canal and board our little gondola before I killed them for their trespass_.:  He mused, a faint smile tugging at his lips.  : _Relax Van.  These people will either accept me or hate me.  If they choose the former, all the better, but if they choose the latter, there’s nothing I can do to change their opinion.  I could stop a thousand bombs with my bare hands and they’d still blame me for their wartime losses_.:  A slight and rather unconcerned shrug followed those words.  : _I refuse to worry about something I can’t change and instead focus on what I can._ :

: _That’s… surprisingly practical coming from you_.:  Van couldn’t help but muse, watching his husband out of the corner of his eye and noting his look of amusement.

: _I’m a soldier above everything else Van.  We’re known for our practicality_.: 

Van couldn’t help but chuckle softly at that.  It was hard to argue that the albino was in fact one of the most ruthlessly practical people he’d ever met, at least he was until something irked him in just the right way.  Then, Dilandau would shatter mountains to achieve whatever mad goal seized his mind, regardless of the risk, the cost or the time.

Their gondola had moved past the crowd of common folk and through the great walls of the temple, into its lush grounds and opulent docks.  The gondolier held the little boat steady as they stepped gracefully onto shore and took their places just below the Astorian royalty.  They were to stand with the most influential of nobles and ambassadors, the movers and shakers of the kingdom, and Van couldn’t help but wonder if the one behind their kidnapping was here.  How many spies were within this silk clad crowd?  How many were watching the coronation and wishing for nothing but death upon the royal couple?

He couldn’t help but look over at the snowy white carpet trimmed in ocean blue and gold which the future king and queen would soon walk up.  On either side were the remaining Knights Caeli, their guymelef standing proudly behind them.  Their numbers were more than halved after the bombing.  Those who’d survived looked tired and worn, their grief etched plain across their faces, both for the loss of their king and comrades.

Van didn’t envy them their job today.  While he might idly muse about traitors in their midst, the Knights were by now all too aware that there was the strong possibility that one of their own had numbered among them.  They’d failed to keep the Royal Family safe, and as a result, the king was dead.  It was a terrible burden to bear and he silently vowed to help them as much as he could. 

Sibille was a brilliant woman according to Dilandau and excellent at ferreting out secrets from even the tightest of lips.  If she was working with Astoria’s own spymaster, there was little doubt that by the time they returned from their battles on the border, the mystery would be solved, and the traitors hung.

Further musings were silenced as he heard the growing cheers from the commoners beyond the temple walls announcing the arrival of the royal couple.  About a minute later, the trumpets sounded, and Van could see the Royal Barge sail past the temple gates.

He’d thought that his own transportation had been overly opulent, but compared to this gorgeous barge, it now seemed somewhat plain.  The Royal Barge was manned by actual rowers, six on either side, moving in perfect time with each other, golden ores flashing in the sun.  A huge sea serpent had been carved into the ship’s prow, rearing up regally, each shaped scale bedecked in shimmering green opals and lapis lazuli, it seemed to almost breathe with a life of its own as it slid through the water.

A huge banner of Astoria hung from the golden flagpole, it was a beautiful piece, hand embroidered and bearing golden tassels, signifying that the Royal Family was aboard.  Made of the finest of silks, it fluttered majestically in the light breeze, the two sea dragons coiling around the golden sword proudly displayed.

Upon the barge stood Dryden and Millerna side by side.  A step behind them were princess Eries and Lord Fassa.  All looked grave, as if they all felt the great weight on their shoulders, though Van didn’t miss the light in Lord Fassa’s eyes as all his plotting and planning were finally coming to fruition.

It was odd seeing Dryden with his hair down and chin freshly shaved.  Even stranger to see him dressed for his station, as opposed to the loose casual garments he preferred to spend his days in.  Van, a man who fully empathized with that love of the simplistic clothing felt more than a little sympathy.  Dryden’s ensemble couldn’t be any more uncomfortable if he’d tried.

Despite the warm weather, he was dressed in multiple layers, each one looking ornate and heavy.  To top it off, he wore a surcoat, the same shade as the Astorian flag with an intricate necklace made from heavy golden disks, the twinned dragons holding it together appeared to be green opal, much like the dragon on the ship.  A long cloak hung from his back, held up by several youths, no doubt the children of high-ranking nobles.

Next to him, Millerna wore a gown of seafoam blue silk, trimmed with an impressive amount of shining white lace.  While her clothing was lighter in weight than her husband’s, the corset wrapped tightly around her waist had to be killing her.  Like him, she wore a heavy set of golden chains around her neck and a long cloak trailed behind her, this time held up by young girls.  Her long shining blonde hair was bound back in a series of golden clasps set with the image of Jeture and Van was positive that her neck had to be aching from the weight of it all.

Images of his own coronation armour filled his mind and he was more than relieved that Fanelia was much more practical in such things.  At the time, he’d considered the armour to be over the top and impractical, but now, it looked as if he’d thoroughly lucked out.

Naturally, clothing wasn’t the only area in which Fanelia was much more practical with regarding the royals.  The ceremony proved to take nearly three hours.  The priests invoking blessings of not only Jeture, but it seemed as if they wished the approval of nearly every benevolent god and goddess ever invoked on Gaea.  There was singing of holy songs, sacred passages being read, not to mention the lineages of not only House Fassa, but of the Royal House of Aston as well… in their entirety. 

Van desperately wanted to just close his eyes and fall asleep despite being aware that he was standing at the front of the gathering and such a lapse would easily be noticed by… well, everyone.  To his shock, Dilandau simply stood at attention and barely even blinked.  He was the picture of a perfect soldier, radiating respect and calm control even as the hours dragged on.  While the king wanted to envy his husband his ability to simply shut off and become the equivalent of a draconian statue, he knew the harsh price he’d paid for those lessons.

The only time the albino warrior showed any sort of reaction was during the blessings, when after invoking all the deities currently in favour in Astoria, the priest… stumbling somewhat over the words also beseeched the Children of Atlantis for their blessings.  More than a little shocked, both teens looked to the Royal couple and were met with slight smiles from the pair and a small nod from Dryden. 

There was a soft murmur from the crowd at this break in protocol, and Van knew that more than one noble was looking fearfully towards the sea, half expecting Jeture to rise and smite them for this seeming blasphemy.  Instead, the sea remained quiet, the gulls cried softly in the distance and the priest managed to smoothly continue the blessing without incident.

By that time the ceremony finally drew to a close, which was good because the heat of the day was finally being felt and Van was rather sure that no one wanted to be out in it wearing their heavy finery.  Oh, who was he kidding?  The Astorians would wear their finest courtly garb on a trek through the jungles of Freid if it meant looking stylish.

Dryden and Millerna turned to face the assembled nobles, as the crowned King and Queen of Astoria.  All those of Astorian blood either dropped down to one knee, or in the case of the ladies, curtseyed deeply.  Even Dilandau bowed deeply in respect, though as the Prince Consort of Fanelia, he was no longer required to kneel.  Van and their children remained upright, though they did bow their heads in respect, as did several visiting ambassadors.

Trumpets sounded and several snow-white doves were released into the air while brilliant blue smoke rose up from the braziers all around the city, proclaiming that Astoria had a new king.  Bells rang joyously in all the temples and Van could hear the cheers of the commoners beyond the walls. 

The Knight Caeli all raised their swords to the heavens as the King and Queen descended from the raised dais they’d stood upon, moving down to the lowest step, which truly was more of a somewhat raised platform.  Minstrels began to play classic Astorian songs while the noble guests all lined up according to rank in order to properly greet their new rulers.

It was immediately obvious that this was the reason that the coronation was held in the morning, as this would easily take all day.  Even now, some servants were quickly erecting an awning over the couple, giving them shade, while others fetched them fresh fruit and cool drinks.  Small comfortable chairs were brought out for them to sit upon and honestly, Van couldn’t blame them for wanting to sit.  They had to both be ready to pass out by now.

Pleased that his title as King of Fanelia, not to mention his status as a hero allowed him to be at the forefront of the line, Van quickly headed over to his friends, not wanting to make them wait any longer than they had to.  Dilandau and the children followed on his heels, more out of refusal to be left behind than any desire to give well wishes.

Up close, He could see how hot the young couple were already.  Dryden’s surcoat managed to hide the worst of the sweat which stained the silken garments beneath, but nothing could disguise the wild curls forming in his hair as sweat soaked his long brown locks.  Millerna was much the same and she discreetly sipped at her drink, occasionally palming a cube of ice.

“It is my deepest honour to be the first to offer you both congratulations on your coronation.  I have no doubts that you will see Astoria through any future troubles, and I believe that our two countries shall prosper together for many years to come.”  Van smiled widely at them both, meaning every word.

“Thank you, Van.”  Dryden beamed at him, dispensing with the formalities, already tired of the social games being played out beneath the sun’s heat.  “Tell me, are the coronations in Fanelia that long?  I nearly fell asleep twice.  Did you see Millerna elbow me?  If it wasn’t for her, I’d have fallen over for sure.”  The newly crowned queen rolled her eyes in amusement, even less interested in formalities with her friends than her husband.

“Fine image that would have made.”  She murmured with a gentle laugh.  “Though it would have certainly been memorable.”

“You both will be wonderful rulers.”  There was no doubt in Van’s voice as he made that statement.  “Both of you care more about the people than lofty images.  Let the historian’s squabble about how it all looked.  What matters is keeping your country and your people strong without sacrificing your ideals.”

“Do you hear that Millerna?  Our little king is finally growing into his crown.”  Dryden teased playfully.  “So full of wisdom and sage advice.  Whatever happened to that brash and hot tempered little kingling?

“What happened to the irreverent dilettante I first met?”  Van countered neatly.  “I’m not the only one to grow into my crown.”

“Dilettante!?  I will have you know that I’m an expert in many fields… most of them useless, but I’m still an expert.”

“Perhaps most, but not all.”  Dilandau interjected smoothly, respect colouring his voice as he spoke to Dryden. “I have no doubt that you will be able to make use of the hydroponic technology we’re giving you.  Listen to the Madoushi’s instructions and within the month, you will have your first harvest, rain or shine.”

“Thank you for that most kind gift Dilandau.”  Millerna murmured, truly touched by the tools which would save many lives and stave off countless bouts of winter sickness.  “It is a treasure beyond measure.”  Her words were rewarded with one of the rare sights of Dilandau looking truly uncomfortable with the gentle praise.

“Soldiers need food in their bellies if they’re to fight.  Good food.  I’m simply doing my part to ensure our collective victory and taking steps to guarantee the survival of all of our people this winter.”  He turned to look at Dryden, still not dropping out of his parade stance.  “On that note Your Highness.  Permission to gather my troops for our mission to Freid?  Every minute we spend here allows the enemy to advance further into their lands.”

Dryden smiled somewhat sadly, noting how uncomfortable the young general was with the praise and how quickly he turned the conversation to the more familiar ground of military action.  It hurt him to see children so young forced to age well beyond their years, though truthfully, he was relieved that both Dilandau and Van were on their side.  More importantly, that they were working together for a common purpose.  It was truly a miracle of Jeture that this was even possible when a mere four colours ago, they were both ready to claim each other’s lives.

“Of course.”  He nodded to them both in approval.  “Go with my blessings.  You have my permission to use the Crusade for this purpose, though I would suggest speaking to Allen first.  I seem to remember hearing a story about an unauthorised jaunt into Fanelia by a certain younger sibling… best not to repeat the past hmm?”  Naturally, Dilandau didn’t have the wherewithal to look the least bit contrite over his actions. 

“The many vagaries of Fate are awe inspiring, aren’t they?”  The dragonslayer smirked while Van rolled his eyes.

“Indeed they are, but let’s keep the grand theft to a minimum this time, even if it IS crown approved.”  He looked like he dearly wanted to give the fierce teen a happy pat on the head, but thankfully resisted the temptation, thereby keeping his hand.  Straightening up slightly, he then fixed the two youths with a stern look, switching neatly back to business.  “I will also be sending a letter to Duke Chid with you, letting him know your purpose in arriving there and giving you discretionary permission to act as envoys of Astoria, though Duke Chid will still have final authority over your battle plans.”  His dark green eyes fixed on Dilandau warningly.  “Be gentle with him.”

There was no hiding the sneer which pulled at Dilandau’s beautiful face, nor the flash of smoldering rage which still burned in the depths of his eyes.

“Despite the pain he’s caused you, he’s still a child.”  Millerna spoke up, her face grave and eyes shadowed, as if she was hiding something.  “He’s family Dilandau.  Spare him your rage and work with him for the greater good of all Gaea.”

“Basram is your enemy here.”  The newly crowned king continued, placing a gentle hand on his wife’s shoulder.  “Do what you will to them, though please, remember that you’re there to save the Freidian people as well as their crops.”

“You worry too much Dryden, you’re staring to sound like old Folken.  I’ll try to keep any scorched earth tactics to a bare minimum.”  Neither of the royals looked at all convinced, leading Van to smile at them both and place a hand on Dilandau’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry Dryden, Millerna.  We’ll save Freid, and the harvest.  You have my word.”

“And perhaps NOT destroy their castle?”  Eries finally spoke up from where she stood, a few paces behind Millerna.

“Yes… that… let’s not make it three out of three visits.”  Dryden warned him, his tone light but his eyes serious.  The last thing he needed was another massive diplomatic incident, especially when he still wasn’t clear on what had happened the last time.

“…they started it.”  The dragonslayer grumbled, only to receive a less than subtle shoulder shake from the Fanelian king.  “Fine fine… no blowing up the castle… again.”  The accompanying eyeroll was almost audible.  “It’s getting boring anyway.  I mean, there’s only so many times you can blow up a place before it gets old.” 

 “We’re leaving the Floating Fortress with you.”  Van cut in, giving the shoulder in his hands another warning shake and squeeze, though his attention was fixed on the two Royals.  “We can’t risk moving the injured within, and this way, it’ll be able to act as a sanctuary for you until you root out those assassins.  I simply ask that you not use it for battle.  There’re far too many civilians who call it home and I wouldn’t risk them for anything unless the situation is dire.  Commander Antoni has already been briefed and will do all he can to be of aid in whatever manner is necessary.”

“Don’t break our fortress.”  Dilandau added, with just enough bite to his voice to make the warning have weight.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”  Dryden’s smile didn’t make either teen feel comforted, but there really wasn’t much they could do.  They had to trust him, as he was trusting them.

Having nothing further to say, Dilandau executed a curt but respectful bow, snapping his heels together smartly as he turned to leave.  Van simply nodded his head to his friends and smiled warmly at them.

“We’ll be back as soon as possible, and I promise that we’ll save Freid and be back before you can even miss us… well… one of us.”

“I heard that Fanel.”  Flashing them both a confident grin, Van turned away from the royals and followed Dilandau to their children.    Both kids looks more than ready to leave, Ignis especially, it seemed that he had Van’s loathing of social functions, and standing there while nobles gossiped about not only him and his sister, but their parents in less than savoury terms wasn’t nearly as fun as he’d initially thought.  Irma was still doing her best to focus on the splendour of the celebration, drinking in the brilliant clothes, the luxurious decorations as well as the sheer majesty of the temple.  Still, even she looked somewhat relieved at seeing the two draconians head over to them.

“We’re moving out.”  Dilandau stated the instant they were within speaking distance.  He glanced over at Van.  “You take them back to the fortress and gather the team, I’m going to fetch my Oreades from the estate.”  Van desperately wanted to tell him to come with them, still loathe to let the troublesome albino out of his sight.  Things never went well when they are apart and just because they were in Astoria wasn’t any reason for them to drop their guard.  Not after recent events.

“I’ll be fine Fanel.”  The dragonslayer smiled confidently.  “In fact, I’ll likely beat you back seeing as how you’re taking one of those slow ass personnel carriers up to the fortress.”  As he spoke, his wings spread out, earning many loud gasps from their unwelcome audience.  More than one noble took a nervous step back and several made furtive gestures to ward off evil.

“At least take a carriage.”  Van wished he didn’t sound so nervous, but it seemed he was either the only one of the pair to feel this, or Dilandau was hiding it better than he, because he was greeted with a cocky grin.

“Why?  I have two perfectly good wings and it’s about time I remind these people that I’m more than just a pretty face.”  The grin grew wider as those gleaming black wings flapped, lifting the pale youth easily off the ground and causing a rather impressive downdraft.  “I expect everyone to be ready by the time I get there, Van.  We need to be heading out immediately if we’re going to be of any use.”  This was added in the beast kin tongue, the harsh growls likely further convincing the populace that he was indeed a demon of legend.

Before anyone could gather enough courage to do anything about the monster in their midst, he was gone, lifting high up into the air and beyond arrow range. 

Van had never just stood there and watched another draconian fly, but he did at this moment, admiring the way his wings cut through the air, the play of the morning light across dark feathers and how weightlessly graceful he was.  The desire to join him on the wing was powerful, and he could feel his own wings aching to be released so that he could chase his husband, to race each other on the wind, to claim the skies as their own…

“Dad… we need to get going.”  Irma gently brushed his arm with her hand.  “If he beats us back to the fortress, he’ll never let us hear the end of it.”

“She’s right you know… and now that we’re officially on mission, he outranks you.  He’ll make you scrub the toilets or something.”  Ignis added with a smile, earning an exaggerated shudder from Van.

“If I have to, so do you two.”

“Nope, you’re our commanding officer.  We’re just following your orders.  Sir.”  Irma grinned at him happily, her sharp teeth gleaming despite the shadows her hood cast over her face. 

“Brats.”  Van replied with obvious affection in his voice.  “Alright, let’s go.  No running.  You’re royals.  We walk with dignity and purpose… at least here in Astoria we do.”

“He’s totally going to beat us.”  Ignis murmured softly.

 

They did in fact reach the fortress before Dilandau, giving Van enough time to look at the troops who had gathered in the hangar, all standing at attention in their shiny new uniforms.  Each one looked so painfully young, but so proud to be there.  For a moment, He had a flash of a memory that wasn’t his own, seeing the Dragonslayers for the first time, each one still glowing from the pride of their new positions, utterly convinced in their own immortality and the invincibility of their leader.  None of them realizing just how bad it was going to get.

Despite only being barely seventeen years old, Van suddenly felt terribly old and worn.  He’d seen so much, done so much… lost so much.  What gave them the right to lead these kids into battle?  They were so green, even he could see that.  How many were they going to lose before this was done?  How many could they afford to lose before Dilandau’s mind snapped again?  Less than they would if they did nothing, his subconscious warned him, sounding an awful lot like Celena.  What did that say about himself and Dilandau when she was their collective voice of reason?  Likely nothing good.

As Van walked down the row of assembled teens, Ignis and Irma walking behind him in perfect step, it occurred to him that he seemed to have slipped neatly into the position of second in command of their unit despite Gaddes formally having the position.  Yes, the man still handled the paperwork and kept the team on track, but now Van was the one to act as the go between for them and the captain.  Did that make them co-lieutenants?  He’d really have to talk to Dilandau about that because as much as he was still angry with Gaddes, he knew that he couldn’t subvert the team like that.  They needed stability in their leadership, not jockeying for position.

Possibly summoned by his thoughts, Gaddes stepped forward and handed him a scroll, managing to somehow make it all look official and pretending not to notice the confused look on the king’s face.

“Here’s a list of the supplies we’ll be bringing with us.  They’re already being loaded onto the Crusade.  Pretty sure I thought of everything we’ll need, but if you notice anything missing, let me know.”  The sergeant stated, as if this was a perfectly normal exchange.  “Did you lose the captain?”  Gaddes asked after a moment of Van staring at the scroll, trying to catch up to speed.

“He’s getting his Oreades.”  If Gaddes could pretend not to notice Van being out of his depth in the planning department, he could pretend not to notice the older man stiffening at the thought of that crimson monstrosity taking to the air above Astoria once more.

“Greaaaat.”  Not that the man was making it easy to ignore.  Most of the recruits had no idea what the Oreades was, though Regis seemed to perk up visibly even as Merle gave a low hiss of horror.

“I thought the Oreades was lost in the final battle!”  The zaibachi youth couldn’t quite resist a delighted grin, nor could he resist keeping his mouth shut, earning a cool look from both Van and Gaddes.

“Take a walk in a forest, find a friggin war machine.”  The sergeant grumbled softly.  “Jeture’s got a sick sense of humour.”

“It wasn’t lost.”  Van clarified, once again feigning deafness regarding the sergeant.  “Simply hidden after the Battle of Rampant.  General Albatou will be piloting it, I will be in the Escaflowne and the rest of you will be on foot and training in a simulator when we’re not in the field.”  He was suddenly glad that Dilandau had insisted on them going over at least the bones of their upcoming engagement with him on the way to the coronation, needing some way to pass the time on the trip down from the fortress.  “We’ll have your units on board the Crusade in case any of you show early aptitude with the machines, but the General has warned not to get too excited.  He’s not clearing anyone for piloting until you can impress him in the simulators.”

“Will we be getting the manual to study from any time soon?”  Dumas asked, sounding somewhat nervous about speaking up considering his disfavour, but Van had to appreciate his guts.

“Scholar Inverness is still translating the manual.”  He warned.  “It will be a few weeks before we get our first translated copy, but I’m sure that Diland… the General will cover the basics with us all while we’re en route to Freid.  He’s also stressed that our training regimen will be increased to prepare everyone for engagement with the enemy.  Anyone unable to keep up in the training will be held back from battle.”  He looked at all of them as he spoke, favouring no one with his stare, making sure that they all knew that they were equal in his eyes no matter how close he was to some of them.  “We will not be throwing away your lives on this mission.  If the General doesn’t clear you for battle, you’ll stay behind at the castle to focus on your training.  I’d rather have you miss a fight than die out in the field and I’ve no doubt that you’d prefer it as well.”

Looking at the group, he was more than a little shocked with himself for delivering that speech, though judging by the looks of respect he was receiving from the assembled recruits, he’d done rather well.  Merle even shot him a discreet thumbs up and a smile.  Though he pretended not to see it, he felt a little lighter as he looked at the group one last time. 

“You all have one hour.  Get your things together and pick out an Alseides unit in Beta Bay.  Don’t be late or we leave without you.  Dismissed.”  He really hoped he’d done that last bit correctly, his memories from Dilandau were a little sketchy and scattered without proper prompting, but everyone quickly left the room without further question or argument.  Well… almost everyone. 

Ignis and Irma remained behind long enough to flash him happy smiles before slipping out the door, murmuring about getting Kamata ready for transport.  Gaddes and Merle, who had also stayed both blanched at that statement and turned to gawk at the now closed door, then glare at Van.

“That’s the dragon right?!”  Gaddes couldn’t help but sound somewhat accusing.  “You’re bringing the damn dragon!?  Into a war zone?  This is the brat’s idea isn’t it!?”

“Firstly, yes we are.  We can’t leave him behind.  He’d panic without one of the four of us visiting him regularly and it’s not like we can explain to him what’s going on.  Everyone will be safer if he comes with us.  Secondly, Dilandau is a general now.  I’d advise you not to forget that.   You’ve seen how he reacts to disrespect.”

“On that note…”  Gaddes looked at Van cautiously, nervousness apparent in not only his posture, but his voice as well.  “Do you two want me on the mission?  I know that I’m not welcome around you after… well… after everything.  This is going to be stressful enough with you guys taking green recruits into battle.”

“And a dragon.”  Merle added less than helpfully, making the sergeant wince.

“…and a dragon.  What I’m saying is, if you guys want me to stay with the Crusade, or stay here… I understand.”  Van shook his head and fixed Gaddes with a level stare, confident that he spoke not only for himself but for Dilandau on this.

“You’ve trained these recruits for the two colours we were gone.  They know you and trust you.  You also have a level head in battle and honestly, we’re going to need every experienced hand we can get in this.  We’ve both given you our terms.  Are you going to be able to follow them?”

“You’re starting to even sound like him you know.”  Gaddes murmured softly.  “I’m honestly not sure if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.”

“It’s a necessary thing.”  Van answered without hesitation, meeting Gaddes’ storm grey eyes with his own.  “Is there anything else Sergeant?”  Though Gaddes tried to hold his stare, he found that he couldn’t and looked away after only a few moments.  In an attempt to cover up his slight loss of face, he reached into his vest and pulled out a second small scroll. 

“Yeah… this is for the General.”  Jeture be merciful, it felt so wrong to say that title regarding the brat.  “I was going to give it to him when he boarded.  It arrived just after you left for the coronation.”  Noting that the scroll wasn’t sealed, Van opened it and quickly glanced through it. 

As Dryden had mentioned, it was the Royal notice granting both he and Dilandau discretionary authority during their stay, ensuring that they were acting under the blessings of the Crown of Astoria.  It was amazing that this little scroll would cut through most bureaucracy they were all too likely to run into.  He was under no illusions that even though Freid had asked for help, specifically from him, they would do all they could to make Dilandau’s stay there a nightmare.

Frowning slightly, he noticed the last paragraph of the scroll.  It mentioned an envoy who would act as a go between regarding the Freid Court and the General.  Though it cited years of experience as a courtier and a royal messenger, Van couldn’t help but stiffen slightly at the name.  Palos of House Varinth.

“Got to that last part, did you?”  Gaddes couldn’t quite resist asking with a bit of a smirk.  “No idea what Dryden was thinking with that one.  All that guy is good for is wetting himself at the first hint of danger.”

Van declined comment, struggling with a wave of guilt at the realization that he remembered it being mentioned that the messenger had had his throat slit when they’d been kidnapped.  Naturally, he’d assumed it had meant that he’d died.  It hadn’t occurred to him to inquire further.

“I’m… impressed that he survived.”  He managed after the silence had stretched into awkwardness.  “It sounded like a fatal injury.”

“It should have been… likely would have been if we hadn’t found him when we had, and if Millerna hadn’t been as skilled in healing.  She kept fighting for him long past when anyone else would have given up.  At least… that’s what I heard… I really never went to check on him at all.”  The sergeant shot Van a guilty look.  “He woke up a little while before you guys made your big entrance.”

“He was there… when we were taken?”  Van’s voice sounded tight and he realized that he was gripping the scroll hard enough to crinkle the fine vellum.  He vaguely remembered speaking to the messenger… getting chastised?  Most likely, Palos seemed the type and the two of them had been drinking rather heavily that night.  “Does he remember anything?!”

“Doesn’t seem like it.  Merle was there when he woke up and was caring for him before his father brought in some fancy nursemaid or whatever.  Seems the trauma of it all pretty much wiped his memory, though that could also be the terror of waking up to have Merle in his face.  I doubt she was… gentle.”  Gaddes gave an apologetic shrug and a slight wince which Van echoed.  Neither of them would have wanted to be in the messenger’s shoes at that moment.  Waking up to an angry and frantic Merle would be terrifying in and of itself.

“I was perfectly gentle with him.”  Merle grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the two men, as if daring them to argue this with her.  “I didn’t strangle him or anything, but I’m still positive he knows something.  He smells guilty.”

“Guilt doesn’t have a smell.”  Gaddes shot her a dark look which was met with an equally withering stare.

“How would you know?  Your nose is all clogged up with the stink of cheap booze and cheaper bedmates.”

“I’m going to want to talk with him.”  The young king interrupted the argument before it could begin and rolled up the scroll, doing his best to smooth out the wrinkles he’d made.  “I’m rather sure that Dilandau will too.”  Damn Dryden, he could have warned them!  Granted, Dilandau likely would have flown off to the palace to interrogate him in person and damn the coronation.  At least this way, they could speak to him under more… controlled circumstances.  At least he hoped.  From what he’d seen so far, Dilandau’s ideas on information gathering tended to lean in the direction of hot pokers.

“Be gentle with the kid.”  Gaddes warned.  “He’s still recovering and from what I’ve heard, he’s still not speaking all that well.”

“Just get him on board the Crusade and I’ll deal with Dilandau.”  Van clenched the scroll in his hand, likely causing even more wrinkles, but not really caring at this moment.  His attention was fixed on ensuring that his husband approached this new issue with a cool head… or at least some basic level of patience.  Oh this was going to be a fun trip.  The gods clearly hated him.

 

 

Allen glared at his soup, doing his best to will his stomach to want it, but everything still ached deep inside his body.  While it wasn’t the all-consuming agony he vaguely remembered from earlier, it still was enough to put him off the idea of eating, no matter how much he knew he needed it.

“I doubt it’s at all intimidated by that look.”  Dilandau drawled from the doorway, not having bothered to knock or otherwise announce his presence.  Rather than jumping in shock at the intrusion, Allen simply glanced over in the direction of his sibling, neither surprised, nor annoyed by his presence.  It was impossible to ignore the dress uniform he was wearing, or that it had been specifically designed to show off those damnable wings of his.  Jeture only knew why he was so determined to show them off, touting himself as an inhuman creature of legend rather than the simple youth he should have been.  Someone had even given the warlord another diadem, the familiar golden band on his brow held most of his hair out of his face while the rubies clustered in the center made his eyes seem even brighter and more unnatural.  Allen hated it.

“I should have been at the coronation.”  Blue eyes, normally warm and inviting were narrowed and accusing as he pulled his gaze away from his little brother and resumed staring at the offending food.  “I should be going with you to Freid.  Instead, I’m laying here like some sort of invalid.”  
               “Technically, you’re sitting, and seeing as how you ARE an invalid at the moment, I fail to see the issue.”  Shrugging nonchalantly, Dilandau walked into the room as if he owned it… which Allen figured he technically did, in a roundabout way. 

Taking a break from glaring at the cooling meal in front of him, he indulged in a rare moment of simply studying his little brother.  Clearly being sent into battle agreed with him.  Hardly surprising really.  Dilandau was looking better than the last time he’d seen the youth.  The dark circles of exhaustion which had shadowed his eyes were now faded and that aura of fragility was gone.  Now, his alabaster pale skin had regained its old vitality and there was that familiar predatory grace to his movements as he walked around the room, idly glancing around as if he had no care in the world.

It was a lie of course.  Allen knew Dilandau well enough to notice how he still had a certain nervous tension about him and how those crimson eyes of his never left the needle which was still imbedded in the back of his hand.  Supposedly it was delivering a constant supply of medicine of some sort and Millerna had given him a rather stern lecture about not scratching at it nor attempting to remove it. 

Still, it was nice to have the playfully barbed banter back.  Since he’d woken up, everyone was treating him as if he might fall apart at any moment.  They watched him carefully, analyzing his health and mental state constantly, always somewhat nervous about how he was handling his injuries or the trauma which followed.   It made him feel like a sick child being wrapped in thick blankets and kept quiet, his control taken away by well meaning adults.

Dilandau acted as if he couldn’t care less.  Having been at the epicenter of the very worst of the Destiny war for its entirety, the youth had long ago put aside such niceties.   He’d seen men living with injuries far worse than Allen’s… Jetures grace, he’d likely caused most of them.  Two artificial legs were likely hardly worth noting to a soldier who’d grown up on the front lines and Madoushi labs, so he wasn’t about to fawn over his older brother.

“You look like shit by the way.”  Dilandau sat down on the edge of the bed near his legs, or at least the things he was now calling his legs.  It was odd to see him there, but not really feel him at all.  “When was the last time you bathed?”  Perhaps, a little less callousness and a little bedside manner wouldn’t be amiss.  Surely there had to be a happy middle ground somewhere.

Somehow, Allen resisted rolling his eyes and kicking the obnoxious brat off the bed.

“I have a healer come by and wash me every day with a sponge and medical ointment.”  He replied primly, though there was very little confidence behind his voice.  The ointment wasn’t the best smelling of medicines, though it did wonders for helping to numb the many aches and pains in his body, not to mention ensuring that his skin stayed healthy while he was mostly bedbound.

“Sponge bath hmm?”  Dilandau grinned at him wickedly.  “I bet you just love that.  Have you gotten under her skirts yet, or are you still playing up the whole poor wounded war hero angle?”

“I am a gentleman!”  He shot back, favouring the snickering brat with a dark and offended glare regarding the slight to his honour.  Honestly, he had no idea what was going through his sibling’s brain at times.  It wasn’t as if he was some walking bundle of uncontrollable hormones. Besides, he was in too much pain for such things, and the nurse was well past the prime of her life.  Not that he was going to mention that.  It was mortifying enough being cleaned in such intimate ways by a woman twice the age his mother would have been.

“You’re as much a gentleman as I am Allen.”  That grin hadn’t lessened, in fact, it had grown even wider.  “You just waste the energy pretending to be otherwise.” 

“You’re not helping you know.”  Allen grumbled in mock irritation as he gently pushed the soup away from him.  Without and hesitation, Dilandau pushed it back.

“Eat.”  He ordered, his eyes narrowing.  “You just finished bitching about being useless, well you’re not going to be worth anything if you let yourself waste away.  Are you even walking yet?  You should be able to walk by now.  Don’t make me have wasted all that effort of not killing those damned Madoushi for nothing.”

“I can walk.”  Allen couldn’t quite resist snapping back defensively.  In truth, he’d only managed a few stumbling steps under the direct supervision of Lord Mishka.  The sorcerer had been trying to get him to walk more, but progress was limited by the extensive damage to his internal organs.  Still, he could stand on his own and keep his balance, but still hadn’t gotten used to not being able to feel the floor beneath his feet when he walked.  It was unnerving to say the least.

Dilandau shot him a skeptical look, but refrained from insulting him, which had to be some sort of god given miracle.

“Well, keep it up.  Get your strength back and maybe, if you work hard, you’ll be able to join in the war before I win it.”

“Don’t get cocky.”  He couldn’t help but chide gently.  “I’m rather sure that there will still be something for me to fight.  No doubt I’ll have to come in at the last minute to save your life.”

“Hmph, hardly.  In fact, if you’re keeping track, which I am.  I’m ahead on the life saving.  There was that bandit camp where I saved both you AND your men, then the bomb and lastly, giving you blood, Oh, AND bringing the Madoushi here so they could put you back together.  That’s four.  All you have is that you supposedly pulled Van off my Oreades at the end of the war, and that was technically Celena, so it doesn’t really count.  Honestly Allen, you’re seriously falling behind.”

“It’s hardly a contest.”

“Of course it is, and I’m winning.”  Dilandau smirked.  “Now, as my reward for winning and seeing as how I’m the one being the hero of the hour, I’m taking your crew and the Crusade back to Freid on my mission.  Don’t worry, Kio will be piloting, so we shouldn’t be crashing… not that Kamata won’t bitch about it the whole trip…Honestly, I think he’s neurotic about it.  Can dragons be neurotic?”

“What?  You can’t take the Crusade!”  Allen sat up a little straighter and glared at his brother in horror, envisioning all sorts of trouble the little beast would get himself into.  He’d no doubt pull Van and his crew into all sorts of mischief and his beautiful Crusade would end up even more dented than before.

“Of course I can.  You’re hardly using it.  Your crew is just lazing around mucking up my hangar and seeing as how I’m a Schezar, the ship is mine too.”  The smirk grew even wider, something Allen hadn’t thought possible.  “Plus, I outrank you now, so I believe you should be saying “Yes sir, thank you sir.  Anything I can do to help sir.”  Something along those lines.”

“Don’t you dare crash my ship.”  Allen growled through gritted teeth, aware that the brat was right.  Jeture help him, he was outranked by Dilandau.  It was like watching a nightmare come to life right in front of him and he was powerless to stop it.  At least this horror he could place squarely on Dryden’s meddling shoulders.  “Kio flies it, that’s it.  You don’t touch the wheel and you don’t poison my crew.”  It was a sad day when he had to give instructions like that.

It certainly didn’t help at all when Dilandau simply waved his orders away in a somewhat bored fashion.

“I suppose as your older brother, it’s a lost cause to order you to remember that you and Van are still courting and should behave appropriately?”  The look he was given said more than he ever wanted to know.  Dammit, didn’t either of them understand that propriety was more important than teenage hormones?

“Don’t worry, he’s still courting me all nice and nobly, when he’s not fucking me into the mattress of our bed, or the floor, or the shower… there was that one time on the desk…”

“Dilandau!”

“Oh grow up Schezar.  You’re only jealous because you’ve never had good desk sex.”

“Think of your reputation!” 

“My reputation is that I painted my guymelef red with the blood of babies and that I fucked my way through half the Copper Army.  I doubt this will tarnish it at all.”

“Then think of Van’s dammit.”  That earned Allen a narrowed eye glare before Dilandau shrugged once again.

“Please, as far as the world is concerned, he’s tamed Zaibach’s demon.  This only feeds his legend.  OH!  Did you see my diadem!?  Isn’t it perfect?!”  He grinned happily, the way any greedy child would at the receipt of a valued gift.  “He stole it from a pirate ship for me!  It was a courting gift, so not even you can complain.”

“You’re not supposed to steal courting gifts.”  Really, he should stop while he was behind.  It really wasn’t worth the losing battle and he simply didn’t have the energy to go head to head with Dilandau at this moment.

“Of course you can steal from pirates.  It’s expected.  Besides, it’s alright.  I’d already slaughtered them.” 

“Just… just be careful in Freid.”  Allen sighed, rubbing his temples in an effort to ward off the headache he could already feel brewing from this conversation.  He watched as Dilandau’s smile faded and his eyes seemed to simmer with barely disguised malice.  There was so much he wanted to say to his little brother.  So much he wanted to warn him about, to share with him.  If only they had more time, but that was the one thing they had the least of.  Damn Basram!

“Why?  Those golden guymelef the moon bitch saw are hardly going to be supervising the capturing of rice crops.  They’ll be waiting for the real fighting to begin before they show their ugly faces.  This will be little more than a training exercise for our troops.  It’s pathetic really, but I suppose that’s what happens when you leave a country in the hands of a toddler.”

“Dilandau, please.”  Allen reached out and took one of Dilandau’s hands in his, giving it a tight squeeze.  The albino was so startled by the sudden contact that he didn’t even think of pulling away and instead, stared at Allen in surprise.  “I know that terrible things have passed between the two of you and I know that what was done was unforgivable, but please, I’m begging you, don’t hurt Chid.  He’s… he’s been through enough.”

“Why do you care so much?”  Dilandau didn’t even bother to hide the sneer forming on his lips.  “Just because he’s the spawn of the woman you used to fuck you think that….”  His voice drifted off as he stared at Allen, crimson eyes growing wider as he studied Allen’s face against the memories of that little brat.  The brat who’d looked uncannily like Celena’s twin… like himself.

Millerna had called him family earlier, but she hadn’t specified which family she’d been referring to.  Holy fucking fate.  Not even Emperor Dornkirk would have seen that one coming.  It was like reading one of Shesta’s tawdry romance novels!

“He’s your son isn’t he.”  Accusations dripped from Dilandau’s words.  “Your son allowed his guards to torture me and then rip out my fucking soul.  He stood there and watched them do it.”  Dragenergist light flared behind his eyes for a moment but was quickly snuffed out as a growing grin split apart his face.

“You… you fucked the princess, even though she was already betrothed to Duke Masad…then you both passed your spawnling off as his own!”  A giggle slipped past his lips and he leaned back, shoulders shaking as he tried to hold in his mirth.  “You looked Aston in the eye and lied to him over and over again, knowing you, the great and noble knight had utterly deflowered his precious daughter.  Oh sweet fate that’s fucking glorious!”  Losing the battle, he began to laugh outright.  “Then… then you went to Freid and got the cuckolded son of a bitch to help you.  You… you were face to face with him, knowing what you did.  Did he know?!”  Pausing long enough to study Allen’s glower, he erupted into a new level of laughter.  “He did!  Oh that’s priceless!  You’re such a glorious bastard!”  It really was like one of Shesta’s books!  He owed the dragonslayer an apology after all those times he’d said that nothing like that would ever actually happen and it was simply a badly contrived series of events.  Who knew!?

“Does the little bastard know?  Oh fate.  He really is a bastard, isn’t he?”  He was laughing so hard that tears were edging his eyes and it was getting hard to breathe. 

Reaching out with the speed of a striking snake, Allen grabbed onto one of Dilandau’s wings and gave it a sharp tug, nearly knocking the youth over backwards. 

“He doesn’t know, and you won’t tell him.”  He warned his brother in a low voice filled with rather surprising menace.  “Yes, he’s my son, and I WILL protect him to the best of my abilities Dilandau.  Just as you would do with your own children.”  That caused the young warlord to pause for a moment in his mirth.  Jerking his wing out of Allen’s hand, he leaned back on the bed and flashed his brother a wide grin.

“You do realize what this means, Little Lord Chivalry.”  Dilandau grinned wolfishly at him, baring far too many teeth.  “For all your talk of honour, you slept with a woman you weren’t betrothed to, you broke your vow as a Knight Caeli to protect the royal family by fucking one of them.  You had an affair with a soon to be married woman and she bore your illegitimate son who to this day remains ignorant of your crimes.”  Allen couldn’t help but wince at the accusations.  The truth cut deeper than any knife.  “On the other hand, I’m married, to a king no less.  My children were born within wedlock and are acknowledged by both myself and my husband.  I’m a general, a Prince Consort and am about to lead my soldiers into battle to fight for the kingdom of your illegitimate child at behest of the Crown.”  Dilandau leaned closer, his eyes wide with psychotic delight and laughter still edging his words.

“It means Allen Schezar, that I’m the good son.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Gasp!  Such language!  Truly you are a cad, you defiler of women!” Allen glared at him, beginning to wonder if maybe he’d been better off as an only child.

“Don’t you have a war to go fight?”  Dilandau grinned at snapped question, then hopped to his feet, giving his wings a little shake and sending several stray gleaming black feathers flying in all directions.

“No, I have a war to win.”  The young general corrected him.  “I’ll be sure to write to you of our success… well… I’ll get someone to write.  My written Astorian is terrible.”  He shrugged and turned to leave, then paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder.  “Get better soon Allen, I rather enjoyed crossing swords with you, don’t keep me waiting.” 

“We’re on the same side!”  Allen yelled back, but the door had already shut behind him, leaving Allen to glare down at the fallen feathers resting lightly on his bed, starkly contrasting against the pure whiteness of the sheets.

Without a word, Allen reached over and picked up his bowl of soup and began to eat once more.

 

 

“They can’t be serious.”  Dumas muttered as he looked around at the small cabin with disgust.  It was cramped, ill lit, had only a small window to let in fresh air and a small energist light set in each wall.  The place was a box, not even fit for servants.  Worse, it smelled like cabbage.  “What was this?  A storage locker?”

“Pretty much, yup.”  Merle shouldered her way past him and tossed down her bedroll and equipment bag, pleased to be relieved of its weight.  Not that it really was all that heavy considering it held all her worldly possessions in it.  Two changes of clothes, a second uniform, her sword and some daggers, as well as a kit to keep them clean and tended to. 

In contrast to her, Dumas had not only his bedroll, but several changes of clothes, some books and baubles, a large sac of spending money as well as his weapons.  He also had a bag just for toiletries, most of them being oils, fragrances and some fancy soaps judging by the way the smell stung her nose.  Honestly, they were heading into battle, not on a border tour.  He was going to be lucky if Dilandau didn’t pitch half of it off the ship.

“What about the crew quarters?”  Dumas grumbled, dropping his bedroll and giving it a little kick in irritation.  “Why do they get the good rooms while we sleep in bug infested boxes?  The brig is likely more comfortable than this.”

“The crew quarters are strictly for the crew, imagine that.”  She replied, pulling out her sword and checking it over to see if it needed to be either oiled or sharpened before setting it on the weapons rack Katz had kindly set into the walls for them.  “They live on this ship and they’re not about to give up their cots for us.  Besides, this isn’t so bad.   It certainly smells better than their rooms do so stop whining.  If you think that this is uncomfortable, wait until we’re sleeping in the jungle.  There’s bugs the size of your head there, not to mention the saurians.” She shuddered at that.  “Most of them eat meat, and they’re as nasty as a dragon.  Oh, and we’re going to be getting into the rainy season, so it will be wet camps for us.”  It amused her to watch how the human paled at the thought of the festival of horrors in his near future.  “And did I forget to mention that you’ll have to dig your own little latrine every day?”

“You’re joking.  Tell me this is a joke.”

“Do you honestly think there’s inns out there in the jungle?”

“Well… no… but the villagers have homes… don’t they?  Freid is supposed to be a civilized country.”  The desperate tones of his voice made her smile.  She really needed to start up a betting pool with Irma and Ignis on who would break first out there in the wilds.  Her money was on Dumas, though she was pretty sure that Cassian would also be a contender, beastkin or not.

“Their homes will be just big enough for their family, and most of them likely sleep several to a bed to save space.”  This was just a guess of course.  She hadn’t really had a chance to visit any villages in Freid due to the whole, running for her life issue, but she imagined it would be a lot like the villages in Fanelia, only warmer and more bug infested.  “These aren’t rich people, especially since the war.  Astoria only saw a few battles, but Freid was devastated by Zaibach.  They’re struggling just to survive as it is.  We can’t become a burden to them.”

“Barbaric.”  The noble shuddered in horror.  “Well, I’m not sharing a bed with you.  Hmph.  I bet that Lord Dilandau and King Fanel have their own room.  It’s not right, the two of them together like that…I mean… aren’t there rules in place?  Surely it can’t be acceptable in Fanelia.”  Merle didn’t even bother to dignify that with an answer.  Instead, she moved towards the door only to find it opening for her.  Before she could properly react, Regis and Cassian came in, both holding their bags in their arms and looking more than a little irritated.

“Make room for two more.”  Regis stated with a rather weary tone of voice.  “Turns out that there’s a bit more damage to the ship from the attack than the crew let on.  One of the pipes going through the cabin was damaged.  The sewage pipe no less.  What sort of a moron designs a ship so that a sewage outtake pipe travels near the cabins?  Don’t you Astorian’s understand about bacteria?”  The zaibachi youth shook his head in disgust.  “They tied a rag around it… can you believe that?”

“Be glad you have a human sense of smell.”  Cassian grumbled as he dumped his bedroll on the floor in the corner as far from Merle as he could get.  “That stink is going to haunt me for a while.” 

“Oh no.  no way.  I draw the line at this.  I’ll share a room with Dumbass seeing as how I have no choice in the matter, but not Sir Fluffytail and the Sorcerer wannabe.  Out.  Now.”  Not bothering to hear more of their sob story, Merle picked up Cassian’s bedroll and tossed it out the door into the hall.  “We’re packed in tightly enough as it is.”  Both catkin glared at each other, ears flat and tails growing thicker by the moment. 

“I’m sorry, was the King not letting you sleep at the foot of his bed?  Or was it simply that you no longer found the view quite as appealing?”  Cassian sneered back.  “Don’t want me to see you crying into your pillow at night over the loss of your little fantasy romance?”

“That’s enough you two.”  Regis chose to ignore the slight against himself in favour of keeping the peace.  He was all too aware of the punishment for infighting amongst the unit and he doubted that Dilandau would be merciful given that this was still a new team and sorting out how to work together.  “Consider it to be a bonding experience.”  Stepping in between the two of them, he fixed them all with a cool look.

“The pipe travels all through the port side of the ship.  Everyone is doubling up until the damn thing is fixed, but that likely won’t happen until we reach a proper harbour in Freid.  We’re soldiers now, so we’ll have to learn to simply suck it up and be glad that the ships galley is on the other side of the ship.”  Everyone shot him sour looks, but he simply shrugged, prepared to make do despite whatever was in his way.

“If you don’t like it, you can complain to Lord Dilandau.  He wants to meet us all in the hangar.”  Now it was Merle’s time to feel the bottom drop out of her world.  The hangar was where they were keeping the dragon.  The beast that guymelefs had been designed to stop.  The creature who could tear them all apart and not even notice.  The monster who ate people.  They’d all heard that their insane leader was bringing the damn thing along with them on this trip and that for some reason, Van was going along with it.  Still, none of them had truly dared to believe it.

Judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, they were all as impressed as she was and desperately hoping that Regis was just teasing them.

“Stop worrying.  He’s just a baby, barely horse size.”  If Regis had meant that to be at all helpful, he’d failed miserably.  “Look, he’s not that bad, really.  Compared to Lord Dilandau, he’s a sweet little pussy cat.  Sorry guys, poor choice of words.”  He flashes a smile at the two cat-kin, both who rather doubted that he’d chosen those words by accident.  The zaibachi youth was far too politically savvy for that sort of mistake.  He was goading them… and it was working.

Well, she’d faced worse over the last two years of her life.  What was one more adventure?

“Right.”  Merle sighed, strapping her sword to her hip… just in case.  “Let’s go meet the family.”  The others followed her lead and armed themselves.  Each one fully aware that the weapons wouldn’t do anything other than annoy the dragon.  Van was the only person they knew of who’d ever managed to slay one of the dreaded beasts with one… well, supposedly Dilandau had as well, but Merle was pretty sure he was exaggerating.  No one hunted dragons for fun, not even pale psycho’s and their army of boyfriends.

The other recruits were in the hallway.  She recognized Tobias instantly in the small crowd and offered him a tense smile which was returned.  It seemed that he’d only just learned about the dragon as well and looked about as pleased as they were.

The others were still new to her and they’d only met as they’d lined up to board the Crusade a few minutes ago.  There simply hadn’t been time to introduce themselves, especially since Dilandau had been walking down the line of them, ensuring that they all passed inspection and everyone had long ago learned that you didn’t speak, didn’t move and barely even dared to breathe when the pale monster had you lined up.

“I don’t see what the problem is.”  One of the wolf kin was saying in heavily accented freidian and sounding a little confused.  She was small for her clan, a little over five feet tall and whip thin.  Her face was almost human in shape, sporting a rather petite muzzle and small nose.  Her teeth weren’t overly prominent, and her thick fur was a rather nice mix of black, grey and cream which blended nicely into a somewhat shaggy looking mane.  Her ears weren’t nearly as large as Merles and her tail was much shorter and was rather nicely bushy.  Though she wore a uniform identical to the others, a freidian sword was sheathed comfortably at her waist.  It, and the scabbard looked well used.  “Kamata is rather sweet once you get to know him, and he’s fiercely protective of the twins.”  Merle really hoped that she meant Ignis and Irma, not that the dragon had laid eggs or something.  If that was the case, she was walking to Freid.

Standing next to her, her clanmate nodded his head.  Being slightly more heavily built, he had the same fur patterns as she, though his animal features were stronger.  His head was much more wolflike in appearance, giving him a long narrow muzzle, a sharply sloping forehead and larger ears.  Merle could tell at a glance that he wasn’t going to be a bruiser like their leader, who was a giant in her opinion, but she could see the corded muscle on his arms and knew that he was likely far stronger than anyone else on the team.  Like his clanmate, he also was armed with a freidian style sword which hung from his belt with a certain air of familiarity, warning that both of them were far more familiar with combat than most of their team.

“Kamata is a brother to our clan.  Think of him like a large pup, always hungry, always wanting attention and playing too rough.”  He smiled in amusement as if remembering some playful antic or another.

“Yeah, a giant puppy who tends to eat people.”  Merle shot back neatly and she invited herself into the conversation and pretended not to hear Dumas gulp audibly.  It likely didn’t help that neither wolfkin disputed this.  Dammit, she’d been somewhat joking about that one.

“He’s a predator and eats what he must to survive.”  The freidian officer spoke up, entering the conversation.  “And our leaders seem to have an understanding with the beast, ensuring our safety.”  He appeared to be in his late teens or early twenties, which was old enough in Merle’s opinion to be able to recognize that the only understanding between the dragon and at least one of their “leaders” was that crazy seemed to attract crazy.

“I have seen Kamata guard the children of the Redpaws as well as Zaibach as if they were his nestmates, and our captain said that he’d even met Duke Chid without incident.”

“You let Prince Chid near a dragon!?!  Are you crazy?”  Merle hissed, her tail fluffing up as she pictured the sweet little duke turned into a bite sized snack for the beast.

“No, not crazy.”  The freidian smiled at her.  It was the sort of smile that was infectious, and she found her anger draining away despite her best efforts to the contrary.  Coupled with his dark soulful eyes, he was devastating and likely had left behind dozens of broken hearts when he’d defected from Freid. 

“I’ve seen many wonderous things since meeting the Children of Atlantis.  This is but one more miracle come to life.”  Ugh, she’d forgotten about how his people viewed draconians.  No doubt Dilandau was living it up and likely only a step or two away from creating a cult or something.  “I’m Meir by the way, once a lieutenant on the Bhaagi under captain Raj Arjun.  We rescued the Redpaws and the Zaibachi prisoners from the palace in Freid, tying our fates to theirs.”  His smile faded slightly as he remembered the panic filled flight from his homeland, and subsequent cowardly attack from Basram.  “They warned us of Basram’s lies, they sought to protect us, even after our people betrayed them.  It is an honour to train under them and bring a stop to this foul war.  One in my lifetime is more than enough.”

Despite her best efforts, she found herself liking Meir.  There was a sense of honesty about him and an open joy in the world around him despite its darkness.  Like the rest of the team, he was slender in built while also not being overly tall.  His shaved head stood out amongst the crowd almost as much as the deep golden tan of his skin.  Like the others, he wore one of the new team uniforms though judging by what she knew of Freid’s beliefs, he likely wasn’t impressed with the idea of wearing the skin of some poor animal. 

“Kamata good.”  One of the three zaibachi youths finally spoke up in heavily accented Astorian.  “Kamata friend.  No fear Kamata.”  The kid didn’t look to be any older than Merle and he had the loveliest deep green hair that she’d ever seen.  Honestly, she had no idea what exactly was in the water up there in that strange nation to give their people such unusual colouring, but it seemed to work well with his pale skin and almost ice grey eyes.  He, like the other zaibachi on the fortress had an underfed look to them as if they’d all been either sick or starved… likely both if she understood the rumours of their past slavery.  Still, there was a ferocity and earnestness behind his eyes that she appreciated, and she knew that at least these zaibachi were fiercely loyal to Van for freeing them from captivity.  It was a small point in their favour to counteract the fact that they were all crazy as far as the rest of Gaea was concerned.

“How do you not fear a dragon?”  Dumas demanded, sounding more than a little exasperated.  “It’s a dragon!  Or are you people so messed up from all the crazy sorcery you all do that you don’t recognize danger when it tries to eat you anymore?”  The boy might not have understood most of his words, but he certainly understood the tone.  Rather than backing off, he stepped well into Dumas’ personal space and glared up at him, completely ignoring the fact that the older astorian youth had almost a foot of height on him.

“Not crazy!”  The boy all but spat out.  “Owe Lord Dilandau life.  Owe King Fanel life.  Kamata family.  Not fear family.”  Yup, they were all crazy.

“That’s Bidden there.”  Regis stated helpfully.  “Bidden, don’t eat them.  It would make Lord Dilandau angry.”

“Hmph.”  The kid huffed, favouring Dumas with another glare before stalking away, leaving the older youth struggling to figure out what just happened.

“You’re just making friends all over the place, aren’t you?”  Cassian snickered from where he leaned against the wall, his long silky tail drifting back and forth across his calves like a veil.  “At this rate, you’re going to insult the dragon and it will be a contest to see who kills you first.  It, or Lord Dilandau.”  If that comment had come from anyone else, Merle would have happily laughed along with the rest, but seeing as how it was from the damn cat, she found herself bristling and stepping up to defend her partner, no matter how much of a short sighted jerk he was.

“I don’t see you just striding into the hangar to scratch the dragon under it’s chin.”  She shot back.  “So why don’t you just shut that mouth of yours until you have something constructive to say.”  Cassian looked like he was about to fight back, but Regis placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

“Teamwork people.  We need to work together or else Lord Dilandau will keep us in Godashim and fight the war alone.”  None dared to call him on that.  They all knew that that sounded exactly like something their leader would do if he felt that his team wasn’t up to standards.  “What’s worse is if we don’t get along, he’ll give us teambuilding exercises, and his idea of teambuilding is the sort where you work together or die a bloody death.  Dallet used to write me about some of them.  Trust me, we don’t want that.”

The team shuddered at the very thought, save for the three zaibachi teens who didn’t understand enough of what he said to react.  When Regis quickly gave them a rough translation, they all blanched, and shook their heads quickly.  None of them wanted to risk their leader’s wrath.  Even in the academy, tales of his brutality had reached them and were the subject of much rumour and legend.

“I Mador.”  The other male zaibachi stated, taking advantage of the break in conversation to attempt to introduce himself.  He looked to be about fifteen, possibly sixteen.  It was hard to tell due to the rather disfiguring burn across the left side of his face.  It had just missed claiming his eye, leaving it sagging slightly in the corner and claiming both lashes and brow though thankfully not blinding him.  His left ear was somewhat deformed, and it looked like the scar travelled down his neck past his collar, making Merle wonder just how much of him was scarred.  Without the wound, he likely would have been a rather handsome youth with bright blue eyes and sandy blond hair which he had left a little long in front to partially cover the worst of the burns.

“Name Mador, but called Singe… not sure why.”  He smiled at them all, enjoying their gape jawed shock at his joke.  Even Merle had no idea how to handle that.  For all the mocking she did of people, it would never occur to her to tease someone over something which clearly had been an agonizing experience.  “Is ok.  I like name.  Tells tale yes?”

“It… certainly does.”  Cassian murmured, doing his best to look as if he was taking it all in stride.

“May we ask how it happened?”  Tobias spoke up, curiosity moving him out of his usual silence.  Singe nodded his head and smiled somewhat lopsidedly at them all.

“Very young, village attacked.  Many died.  House on fire but mother grabbed me, shielded me when roof fell.”  He replied, struggling with the words as he told his tale.  No one dared to interrupt him despite the stumbling language and Merle felt her ears droop at the realization that his mother had sacrificed herself for him, shielding her child with her body as they burned.  “Almost died.  Hurt bad.  Madoushi travelling through village.  Heard screams and pulled me from ruins.  Madoushi healed skin, saved life.”

“But… the sorcerers are all monsters!”  Dumas blurted out, unable to contain his bigotry any longer.  Not that Merle blamed him.  The sorcerers had kidnapped and tortured her Van for colours.  They’d tried to rip his heart out during the war while studying the Escaflowne.  They’d tried to alter the fate of the world, ripping away the free will of every living thing on Gaea.  They’d made Dilandau.  That was enough reason right there to condemn them in her books.

“Not all Madoushi are monsters.”  Regis corrected him with a distinct edge to his voice.  “Many honestly want to help Gaea and the rest of the world.  Madoushi saved Sir Allen’s life and are teaching your engineers how to feed Astoria through the winter.  You don’t become evil when you don the cloak anymore than you become good when you get the uniform of a city guard.”

Merle desperately wanted to argue that point.  Sure, not all guards were bastions of goodness with law and order in their hearts.  Some were greedy bullies who just wanted power over others, but a bully guard did a hell of a lot less damage to the people around him than an evil sorcerer.  Just look at the state of the world for proof.

Fighting about it wasn’t going to accomplish anything however and she was sure that neither Dilandau, nor the dragon were waiting at all patiently for them inside the hangar.  If he heard them fighting, especially about something as sensitive as the sorcerers, she was rather sure that a beating would be the least of their worries.

Still, there was one last member of the group who hadn’t been introduced.  She was clearly zaibachi and had long pale blonde hair which had been pulled back into a severe military braid and tucked under itself.  Large brilliant blue eyes studied the group as they argued, always watchful and darting towards anyone who made a sudden movement.

She didn’t smile at all or make any attempt to speak, preferring to simply stare at them all warily, as if waiting for an attack.  Reed thin, she looked like she could likely blow away in a stiff breeze, but oddly, there was no sense of weakness about her.  Instead, she reminded Merle of a heron stalking through a pond, ready to strike with blinding speed, or fly away if threatened.  Merle didn’t want to imagine what she’d likely been through during her period of slavery.  Her own brief stint had been horrific enough.  Inwardly, she swore to try to see if she could help this young woman, though was fully aware that any offers might very well be rejected. 

“Hi, I’m Merle.”  She chirped, flashing the young woman a smile and was rewarded with a cool stare in return.  Noting her lack of introduction, Singe gave her a bump with his shoulder and jerked his head in Merle’s direction.  He murmured something softly to her in zaibachi which caused her lips to thin, but she begrudgingly spoke.

“Zoleta.”  While Merle wasn’t sure if this was a name, or a word in that crazy language, she figured that the former was likely the safest bet.  Of course, it wasn’t followed up by anything, leaving them all standing in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

“I’m Tak.”  The female wolfkin spoke up, her ears perked forward as she looked at the group.  “I never thought I’d see a team of warriors made up of beast-kin and humans.  Well, aside from the RedPaws.  This is a great honour!”

“You’ve fought before in battle?”  Tobias asked, breaking his usual silence and glancing at their swords.  “Those aren’t the standard issue ones we were given.”  Both wolf-kin nodded their heads and grinned, displaying sharp teeth.

“Yes, spoils of battle.  We fought alongside Van and Nakahi against a band of vicious mercenaries as well as pirates.”  The male wolf replied, pride filling his voice and his hand fell to his sword in an almost proprietary fashion.  “My sister fell in battle defending our pack from our enemies, so it falls to me, Rafa to take up the mantle of protector.  I wish to defend not only my pack, but all packs from those who hunt us like animals.”  His eyes narrow as he looks at the others, daring them to deny him the right to do so.

“Basram has been preying on the southern clans.”  Tak explained to them all, her voice somewhat softer but no less fierce.  “They hunt us like animals, stealing away entire clans and using them in disgusting experiments.”  A low growl coloured her voice as she spoke and her ears flattened against her skull.  “They torture our people, tear them apart in the name of their sick science.  Nakahi and Van saw them, saw the horror with their own eyes, suffered alongside them before they managed to grant them peace and escape.  We will not see this happen to others.”

“Nakahi?  You mean Lord Dilandau?”  Dumas couldn’t help but ask, unable to maintain his aloofness in the face of his curiosity.

“Yes, it is his name among the clans.”  Tak replied with pride in her voice.  “It means wyvern.”

“Pale, bad tempered and lethal… it fits.”  Meir chuckled slightly.

“So, what’s that make us then?”  Tobias smiled in response.  “His swarm?”

“Sounds about right.”  Regis replied with a shrug, glancing at the rest of the group.  “Small, easily overlooked, but together, we can bring down dragons.”

“Unless this dragon kills us.”  Dumas grumbled under his breath, earning himself a sharp cuff across the back of his head from Merle.

“Way to ruin the moment Dumbass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd planned on jumping into the action on this scene then remembered that I really should do the coronation and what not. Sorry about that. Next chapter shall have the beginning of fun battles, drama, dinosaurs and the always fun Dilandau vs Chid! Seriously, the Schezar bloodline thrives on drama.  
> I can sooo imagine Shesta gloating at Dilandau when the poor guy admits that maybe Shesta's cheesy romance books might actually have had a grain of truth to them. Finally, vindication!!!  
> I'd been planning on that reveal scene for so long but never found the right place to put it in. I spent a while pondering how Dilandau would react to the news and figured that... well, he'd likely be an utter jackass like usual. Poor Allen.  
> I'd also been eager for the reveal of the diadem and Van was originally going to give it to him in book 2 the first time they had sex as a sort of engagement gift, prompting a whole romantic first time sort of thing, but it really didn't work out. Having the diadem once they finally got their uniforms seemed much more appropriate.
> 
> So then, once again in a leviship, heading back to Freid, armed with guymelef... what could go wrong?  
> Next Chapter: Things don't go well

**Author's Note:**

> DEEEAAATH. Yeah, war sucks, battles suck and lots of people are going to get hurt along the way. Screw this whole getting stabbed with a crima claw and walking it off the next day. I'm looking at you Allen. (glare) I'm not being mean to the characters for the sake of being mean... mostly. I do have some fun ideas to explore here and a lot of character growth to poke around with.
> 
> I do have to admit, I did giggle at Dilandau's description of how Tseng would approach the destruction of Palas, nicely mirroring what he actually did to poor Aston's soul. I really don't like Aston. He got what was coming to him.
> 
> I also like that Van technically just kidnapped the new king and queen of Astoria in front of everyone. Yeah... him really coming into his own is sort of scary. I don't think Gaea is ready for proactive decisive King Van.
> 
> Next Chapter: The Dummies guide to surviving the aftermath of an attack.


End file.
